Colors
by Spicas
Summary: "You're to be taken into questioning, Miss Trinket," the head peacekeeper explains to her. His voice is rough and impatient, and she can't see his face, but she imagines he isn't a very agreeable man. "Anything you say from now on can be used against you. Or in your favor." - Effie Trinket, throughout Mockingjay.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but now it's a somewhat long multi-chapter story. It focuses on Effie throughout the end of Catching Fire to the Mockingjay book. It's much more introspective than my previous work, and a little darker, but I've never read an extensive take on Effie during Mockingjay and I thought I'd do it. It just evolved into a much longer fic than I had planned! :P_

 **Warning: This story deals with mature themes such as sex and torture. If you wish to know more about the warnings (I'd rather not give much away) just send me a PM and I'll be happy to let you know if any additional trigger warnings apply. I don't like violence and I don't like writing about it, but this is from Effie's POV while she was taken as a prisoner by the Capitol. The scenes are usually cut before anything drastic happens. There is also no rape in this fic.**

* * *

 **Colors**

 **Chapter 1**

He leaves early that night.

They're all on edge because of Beetee's plan in the arena. The tributes are waiting for the right time to go back into the jungle and so she and Haymitch take a break from everything — sponsors and meetings and viewings. They go back to the penthouse; she goes straight to her bedroom, hoping to be able to take a shower, and she's sure he's gone to get some liquor.

He enters her bedroom a few minutes later, carrying a bottle of whisky in one hand and a glass in the other. It's almost as if he has manners.

They don't say anything. He sits on her bed and watches as she takes her makeup off. She's a little uneasy when she reaches for her wig — he has seen her real hair before, but never in such a deliberate way. He stands up when her natural blonde locks are freed from the net that keeps them hidden under synthetic hair, leaves the bottle on the floor next to her bed, and the glass on her vanity table. He leaves kisses behind her ear and goosebumps on her skin.

His touch is almost lazy against her skin. His hands take off her dress slowly, when it had always been rushed in the few times they've done this before. She moans when a palm massages her breast, the dress pools on her lap and his breathing is warm against her neck.

They are both naked when they reach the bed, and she has the feeling he wants to savor it somehow, but they don't have time for that, not tonight, not when so much can happen in a few hours. So he slips inside her, gives her a few seconds to accommodate him, and starts moving.

It's slow at first, and that has her going as it is; his face is close to hers when in the past he would simply hide into her neck. He moves faster and she closes her eyes, unable to handle the intensity of the feeling, but opens them again when she feels his hands in her hair, baring her face to him. She comes and he follows; she's still clutching onto him as she feels him spill inside her. She gasps when he groans, and blue eyes meet gray ones. For a moment, it's as if they're frozen in time.

He's usually quick in disengaging, sitting up and grabbing his boxers to make a quick exit. Today, he kisses her, and she lets him.

One deep kiss is followed by another and then by a dozen of short, sweet kisses. He remains on top of her the whole time, but not crushing her completely; somehow, his weight is reassuring.

She doesn't know why there are tears in her eyes when he does sit up. She blinks them away, sitting up as well, feeling a little self-conscious at her nakedness. It's usually dark when he leaves her bed.

But he doesn't reach for his boxers straight away.

"Wanna grab a shower?"

The words momentarily freeze her. They've definitely never done this before. But she nods anyway. It seems better than to pretend nothing happened when they go back to watching the Games in an hour.

She turns the shower on and feels a little awkward, standing there with him. She thinks he will complain of her shower preferences but he doesn't really mind. He touches her a few times and she makes a big deal of washing his hair for him. It's strangely intimate, his smile is mostly tentative, and she knows she is trying too hard; she knows both their minds are in the Games, but she wants to remain positive and pretend the world isn't ending in an arena not too far from there.

It's when she's done washing her hair that he slips his hands on her waist and presses his lips against her shoulder.

"I need you to be on the roof at midnight sharp," he whispers, but she hears him loud and clear. "Do you understand, Effie?"

She is mortified. The shower makes sense now. She knows something is up. He has had too many meetings. He has disappeared from her view too often. He has too many appointments she hasn't scheduled. But she understands.

So Effie nods. "Will you be there?"

"No. But I'll meet you later," Haymitch kisses her neck now. "I need you to be there, Effie. _This_ is the time to be punctual."

"Aren't I always?" She tries to tease, but her heart isn't in it.

He chuckles anyway, and starts to step away when she turns and reaches for him.

The bathroom is bugged, she knows, and so is her bedroom and the rest of the penthouse and the train, so there is no point in hiding this, not when they will be leaving in a few hours.

So she kisses him. They don't usually do kisses, actually, not unless it's related to sex, and they have no time for that now. She kisses him slowly, and months later she will look back to this and wonder if this was the one moment that gave her away. Their tongues move together slowly, stopping when they press their lips together one last time.

"Stay alive," Effie whispers.

He gives her a strained smirk. "See you on the other side, princess."

He leaves the shower then, and the penthouse twenty minutes later. Effie decides to stay and watch the Games here instead of downstairs, just in case. It's closer to the roof, and it gives her the notion that she'll see Haymitch sooner if she stays there.

She doesn't see him again that night, nor for many months to come.

—

Effie is anxious as she watches the Games. She doesn't even stop to think if Beetee's plan will work as they want it to. But things don't look good for Katniss, from where she's seeing it. Johanna attacks her, and Peeta isn't anywhere near the tree; Beetee electrocutes himself somehow, and hell seems to have broken loose in the arena and—

She has no idea where Haymitch is.

She decides to go to the roof when the clock marks 11:55. She wants to have a moment to spare, and she feels way too anxious to watch it alone. She hopes she'll see Haymitch soon, wherever that will be, and perhaps they'll be able to see the end of the Games together, however that may be.

She almost stops by her bedroom to get something — clothes? her favorite jewelry? her most expensive wig? — but decides against it. She wants to be on time. It's important that she's not late.

So she goes straight to the stairs. She arrives there with three minutes to spare, and watches the city around her, stomach in knots. She adjusts her skirt just to make sure it's not wrinkled and checks her watch every twenty seconds.

After a minute or so she leans against the wall and watches the square in front of the tributes' building. But she notices little things.

The air is quiet. It's almost as if no one outside is speaking.

The sky is clear. She can't hear anything. No hovercrafts.

Nothing from the penthouse too. No sign of Haymitch.

When the clock strikes midnight, the crowd in the square gasps in unison and Effie sees when the big screen turns black. She knows immediately that something is wrong. Her first instinct is to go back to the living room and turn the television on. Surely there can't be a blackout in the square. Is this expected? Is this what Haymitch expected?

Effie thinks that if he showed up right now she would strangle him for not telling her anything specifically. Doesn't he trust her? Does he think it's amusing to torture her like this? Truly, she has never been more disrespected. It is completely uncalled for. She knows something is up. She should have just demanded to leave with him when he did. Then she wouldn't be here, wondering what on Panem is going on.

She looks at her watch again.

12:02.

Of course Haymitch is late. Truly, she doesn't know why she's surprised.

She doesn't really know what to do, and she's still debating on it when the phone rings from the penthouse. Her breath catches. A phone call at this hour can only mean one of their tributes is dead — or both of them. Effie feels her bottom lip wobbling already. She must answer the phone. She must face this. They're a team, and this is — well, this is what she does for the team. It's her part.

So she goes downstairs, very quickly. Her heart is racing and she feels as if the air is stuck in her lungs. When she reaches the living room, however, she notices the television isn't dark like the one in the square. Caesar Flickerman is speaking, and his voice is louder than the phone.

 _Act of rebellion. Gamemakers do not know what is going. Not planned. Head Gamemaker Heavensbee could not be reached to answer our questions. No one leaves the Training Center._

She understands. The arena, Beetee's plan, Haymitch's leaving. They are out. She knows instantly that they are out. They are safe. _That_ 's what Haymitch has been doing.

She needs to get to the roof.

She walks as fast as her heels allow her. When she reaches the door that leads to the roof, she thinks she can almost hear something up there — a hovercraft, an engine, _something_.

But just as she hears that, the sound of the elevator reaches her ears, and she turns around before the peacekeepers can see that she was going up. Her blood freezes when she sees them, but she maintains her cool exterior. She frowns at them, walking into the corridor carefully.

The peacekeeper closest to her, clearly the leader of this group, approaches her as the others walk further into the penthouse.

"What is going on?" Effie asks immediately.

"We are sorry, Ms. Trinket, but we must search the apartment," he tells her mechanically.

She pretends not to notice two of them are now standing behind her back.

"May I know what _exactly_ is going on?" she asks again. "The screen went black and I demand to know what's happening with my tributes."

Two peacekeepers go to the roof, and she doesn't miss the way they notice the door was open. The head peacekeeper throws her a questioning look.

"Were you on the roof, Miss Trinket?"

"Why, yes, I was looking for some fresh air when the screen simply turned off on its own," she tells him pointedly. "I was coming down to answer the phone, but you arrived before I could do that."

Another peacekeeper, who had been inside the apartment, shows up in the corridor. He shakes his head.

"Ms. Trinket, where is Haymitch Abernathy?" the head peacekeeper asks.

The two officers behind her step closer.

"He had a meeting earlier," she tells him. It's not a lie. "He left about two hours ago, and I haven't seen him since then."

She hears it then. The sound of a hovercraft above them. She hopes her eyes do not give her out.

The head peacekeeper nods wordlessly. The other two, standing behind her, grab her arms. Effie lets out a gasp.

"This is _outrageous_ ," she says very loudly. "What do you think you are doing?"

"You're to be taken into questioning, Miss Trinket," the head peacekeeper explains to her. His voice is rough and impatient, and she can't see his face, but she imagines he isn't a very agreeable man. "Anything you say from now on can be used against you. Or in _your favor_."

One of the peacekeepers push her so she'll start walking. She gives them a look.

"I can walk myself, thank you very much," they let go of her arms. "This is _truly_ outrageous. I am an escort. I will demand to speak to Plutarch Heavensbee as soon as I have a chance. He—"

"Mr. Heavensbee is a traitor. So is your mentor," the head peacekeeper says slowly. Effie's step falters. "They are both wanted men. I'd advise you to keep your position and your connections to yourself."

Her mouth opens but no sound leaves her lips. She's pushes again and walks towards the elevator, the two peacekeepers in tow. On the back of her mind, she thinks of the shame, the scandal this is. She can't be seen like this, like a… prisoner. She's done nothing wrong. She's an escort, and escorts take care of their tributes, and she's done her best to take care of her victors. First and foremost, she thinks that Katniss and Peeta must be fine, both of them. And Haymitch is nowhere to be found. That must be a good thing.

She's done nothing wrong. Everything will be just fine. She's sure of it.

The last thing she sees before the elevator doors close on them is the peacekeepers walking around the penthouse, and she hopes they don't break her perfume bottles because some of them are _very_ expensive.

She doesn't know then, but she'll never see those belongings of hers ever again.

—

The room is white, there's a gray desk in the middle of it and Effie has been sitting here for four hours. A peacekeeper asked her a number of questions, then left, and she's been alone for at least three hours. Effie hasn't lied. She has no reason to lie. She's tired, sleep deprived, hungry and thirsty. She's asked the second peacekeeper if she could call her family lawyer, but he never bothered answering. She knows they're still in the center, but she hasn't seen anyone she's known yet.

At last, a woman enters. She also wears a peacekeeper's uniform and holds a small projector, and Effie thinks she could really use a haircut.

The woman sits across from her, folds her hands together, and stares.

It's uncomfortable, and Effie feels as if she's trying to read her mind. Not to mention how rude it is.

"Effie Trinket," the woman says. She has not introduced herself properly. "You're a model citizen, it appears. You used to be an actual model, didn't you?"

Effie clears her throat. She really wants a glass of water. "Yes. Before I became an escort."

"Which was seven years ago, correct?" She asks, but Effie has no time to give her an answer. A rhetorical question, then. "Why did you become an escort, Miss Trinket?"

"I was invited by Head Gamemaker Octavius Jonesson, and I accepted. It really was such an honor to be invited, I never thought to decline it," Effie explains.

"You started with District 12, and you had good evaluations. How come you never got promoted?"

"I would have to have victors for that, and you know that didn't happen until recently," Effie gives her a pointed look. "May I know what is happening here? I have never been so affronted in my life. I have done nothing wrong, and yet I am being held here and I haven't even had a glass of water."

"We want you to cooperate with us, Miss Trinket," the woman says slowly. "If you do that, you'll be able to go home soon. Now, tell me the nature of your relationship with Haymitch Abernathy."

Effie takes a deep breath. The previous Peacekeeper made that question too.

"He's the mentor to my district," she explains patiently. "I've known him for seven years. We are colleagues."

"You wouldn't call him a friend."

Effie doesn't hesitate.

"No," she answers, because she's quite sure he doesn't consider her _anyone_ , if she's being honest to herself. "We see each other for the Games and at the odd party Haymitch is required to attend. Why, I've only managed to get his phone fixed this year. We must have gone at least three years without me having a way to properly reach him when he's in Twelve."

"Can you describe your schedule for today?" The woman asks.

Effie takes a deep breath. She feels hot — perhaps someone turned the temperature up.

"I was up at seven. We had a meeting with sponsors at ten, Haymitch and I," she explains. "I had lunch with Four's escort, Tanya, as our teams are allies. _Were_ ," she quickly corrects herself. "I did organize Haymitch's schedule as my job requires it and he also had a lunch meeting, though I'm not sure with whom. We spent the afternoon in the viewing room and went back to the penthouse for dinner."

"After that, you had sex, showered, and he left," the woman states whilst reading something from a file.

Effie freezes. The woman looks up.

"We—"

"Don't deny it, Ms. Trinket, or I'll be forced to show you the surveillance video," the woman gives her a pointed look.

Effie feels her face burn, but it's not from shame.

"Surveillance? Is that what they call it now?" Effie asks her. "This is completely outrageous. My lawyer _will_ hear about this—"

"You don't deny it, then, that you and Haymitch Abernathy had sexual relations?"

Effie breathes in and out, feeling more anxious. But she has vowed not to lie, and she'll live by that.

"I do not deny it, no," she says tightly. "It does not mean anything. Haymitch and I had a deal, so to speak. To… relieve stress."

"Then why keep it a secret?" The woman narrows her eyes. "It is a common practice in the Capitol, as you're well aware of. Especially if your lover is a victor. Escorts and mentors are known to get involved sometimes."

"It's private, not secret. There is a difference," Effie explains. "Haymitch preferred that way, and I agreed. It could ruin my reputation."

The woman gives her a tight lipped smile. "I believe it already has, Miss Trinket."

She thumbs a button in the projector and a hazy image appears. It takes Effie a moment to realize what it is — there's barely enough visibility, but she sees enough. The steam is thick but she can see her own head clearly, from above, outside the shower. Anything beyond her neck is invisible. And she sees Haymitch too.

Her voice is low, very low, but they're out of the shower momentarily and she can understand the words after she sees her own image kissing him.

 _Stay_ _alive_.

Effie's eyes falter slightly. That happened hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime already.

"Where is Haymitch Abernathy?" The woman asks again, but Effie is still staring at the projected image.

"I don't know."

Her words are truthful, because she doesn't. She has no idea where Haymitch is, yet she's comforted in the fact that he's safe. Safe, with the children. But she has ideas. She knows who he spent his meetings with. She knows many of the other people who are probably behind all this. Effie _knows_.

"Ms. Trinket, you will not leave this facility until you cooperate with us," the woman continues. The threat is there for all to see.

Effie tears her eyes away from the image, which keeps repeating itself again and again. She remembers Haymitch's last advice when they went to the arena. She remembers feeling confused and curious and scared, and she pretended not to have been eavesdropping in order not to ask anything.

 _Remember_ _who_ _the_ _real_ _enemy_ _is_.

Effie understands, just as Katniss did.

"I do not know," she answers firmly, her eyes darting to the mirrored wall and the gray, sterile door. "I do not know where he is. He never told me."

The woman's icy glare is enough to keep Effie's gaze fixed on her. "That is because _you_ never asked him, Ms. Trinket," she presses the button on the projector again and the image is gone. She looks towards the mirrored wall and nods. "You are under arrest."

Effie wants to cry. She wants to scream, and screech, and demand for a lawyer. She wants to call for every connection she or her family may have. But she doesn't do any of that.

Effie Trinket keeps her chin up, her back straight and her legs crossed. If she's under arrest, she may as well be dignified about it.

For now, at least.

—

Her cell is small, white and clean. There is a toilet and a lavatory and a very hard mattress. There are no windows, just a gray door with an opening — they use that to give her food, because at least she isn't hungry or thirsty anymore. It's more than Effie expected.

She has no cellmates, but she listens — she hears voices and she knows there must be more people in here. Her mind is a whirlwind — the other escorts, the stylists, the prep teams, what's happened to all of them?

A part of her — a good part of her — thinks that this whole ordeal must be exclusive to Twelve, because it was Katniss who blew up the arena, and it's clear that Haymitch must have orchestrated at least part of it. Effie wonders if they'll keep her alive, if they'll free her once they see she's done nothing wrong. She isn't at fault, they must comprehend that. She hopes her aunt has caught news of her imprisonment, and perhaps she'll be able to get her free, but her aunt is not in great health and she's likely not missing her very much.

There's no clock and that throws her off a little. Luckily, she has her own watch. They didn't take any of her possessions so far, so Effie's hopeful — perhaps she's not staying here for long.

She has been in the cell for a day and a half when the hymn begins playing and a projection is shown in the ceiling. It reminds her of the Games and the way the tributes would know who had been killed during the day. So she sits up straight, but nothing could have prepared for what she sees.

Execution after execution.

She recognizes a few of the first ones — lined up against the wall, staring straight ahead, eyes widened in fear. She recognizes them as some of the prep teams from other districts, people she's known for years and some new ones she isn't close with but she knows all their names. All of them.

They are all killed. Shot to death by peacekeepers, certainly, hiding off screen.

She's in shock when it stops, but silent. She has remained silent through it all. She realizes she's been crying only when the anthem plays again and the projection has ended.

But it happens again, an hour later. This time, Effie isn't silent.

"No," she finds herself muttering. Her eyes are filled with tears once more. "No. Cinna."

She wants to look away, she needs to look away, but she makes herself watch, for her friend. Cinna disappeared when the Games began, and Effie had hoped… perhaps he had gone away, and a part of her knew that maybe he had been killed, but he's alive, right there, or just barely — he's beaten, and he can't walk, because the Peacekeepers are carrying him by the arms. She gasps when she notices him, properly — his bruised, bloody, broken body. Tortured, definitely. He's a fashion star. A star, in and out. She's always considered herself lucky that he considers her a friend, and…

She gasps when the shots are sound and clear and she sees Cinna's body slump to the ground. And, suddenly, Effie can't stop the tears.

She's crying and she wants to scream but she can't breathe — she struggles to keep her breathing regular and she tries holding her palm against her lips to stop crying but it's useless. Before long, she's sobbing, she feels a panic creep up her body and she doesn't care about her pretty dress or her heels or her wig anymore; she grasps her knees close to her chest and leans down, letting the tears fall freely.

The panic is still there when the anthem sounds once again, and Effie startles, unsure of what she can expect. She looks up, because she's afraid — she's afraid for Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta, she's afraid they've caught them and this can only mean there's no hope for her, there's no hope for any of them…

But it's not Haymitch, or Katniss, or Peeta.

They are all lined up against a wall again, same as the others, but there are only four people in this group. And she knows every single one of them, she's worked with all of them at some point in her seven years as an escort, but this year, especially this year, they've been working closely, because their teams are _allies_ , and maybe she doesn't like them all but she never wished death upon any of them.

And this is what they'll get. The escorts from Three, Four, Seven and Eleven. They're all lined up according to the district, some still wearing the same clothes she's seen them in two days ago. Crowe, Tanya, Mila, and Bianca.

She doesn't understand why she's not with them.

 _Because_ _of_ _Haymitch_. _Because_ _of_ _Katniss_.

Except she truly does not know anything. She cannot give them anything but what they surely already know. They must have found her clipboard with their schedules, and therefore they must know which districts were working with Haymitch. And, sure, Effie certainly knew something was going on, but she never knew the magnitude of it. She simply thought Haymitch was planning a way to get both Katniss and Peeta out of there, _again_.

And apparently he succeeded.

Effie gasps when she sees the escorts — her coworkers, people she sees all year long, people she's _known_ — struck down; some tumble forwards, some fall on their backs. They are all dead.

Just as she will be, in a few hours.

Effie can't breathe.

Air can't seem to reach her lungs and she's groaning and moaning and — _this_ _is_ _not_ _how_ _a_ _lady_ _behaves_ , she hears her aunt says — her wig is most certainly askew because she's trying to get a feel of herself and it's so hard to breathe — _I_ _need_ _you_ _to_ _be_ _on_ _roof_ _by_ _midnight_ _sharp_ — and she sees Cinna's body on the ground, and Tanya's and Mila's and she remembers Seneca — _stay_ _alive_ —

The sound of steps reach her ears and she perks up.

 _Stay alive stay alive stay alive stay_ —

Effie gulps and tries to control her breathing. She presses her thumb and forefinger against the outside of each nostrils and breathes through her mouth. _Focus_. In, out. _Stay_ _alive_. In, out. _Focus_ _on_ _what_ _matters_. She's Effie Trinket and she'll face whatever happens with her chin up. Haymitch is alive. Katniss and Peeta are alive. She's a Capitol citizen. She doesn't know anything.

By the time they open the door to her cell — she has a cell now, Effie Trinket, in a cell — she knows her makeup is smudged and blurred and her wig must be a mess and her dress has certainly seen better days, but she meets the Peacekeepers with her head held high and no tears are falling against her colorless cheeks.

"Euphemia Trinket," a woman's voice calls her. The same woman who questioned her the day before. "Your turn now."

* * *

 _A/N: So... what do you think? I'm very nervous about feedback for this one so I'd love it if you guys could take a minute of your time to let me know your thoughts - through here, or AO3, or tumblr (effiet dot tumblr dot com). Thanks so much for reading and stay tuned for a new chapter next week!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Her palms are clammy and sweaty as they take off her clothes. Her hands are shaking. It has never been so hard to unbutton a dress before.

They make her strip right there, in the middle of her cell.

They give her no privacy whatsoever, simply order her to strip and wait. She has difficulty swallowing, and her lips are wobbling, but she takes off her clothes and her wig and the already smudged makeup. Her heels go off too, and she stands there, in a tiny white room, feeling so cold and so incredibly small. She doesn't know what to expect, but she doesn't waste her time hanging on some false hope that they'll simply throw her back in that cell and be done with her.

They give her a white gown, and the fabric feels too rough and too thin to bring her any comfort. Her blonde hair hasn't been washed in over two days and she feels even more self conscious than usual, in this tiny room with four peacekeepers watching her, but that's nothing. She keeps telling herself it's nothing.

She isn't fed at all that day. She waits for some food, but none comes. She keeps waiting for someone that will come get her and take her to her death. She doesn't really hope for some miracle — Haymitch likely has no idea where she is, she'll likely never see her family again, and it's clear the Capitol doesn't even consider her one of theirs anymore.

And she has questions. So many questions. They want answers. And she can't give them any.

That night, or at least Effie thinks it's night — after they've stripped her off her golden wig and her watch and the pretty necklace that had been a rare gift from Haymitch two years ago, and she feels hungry, and thirsty, and humiliated, and wonders what will take for them to strip her out of herself as well —, she doesn't stop the sobs or the tears or the dread that fills her entire being, and cries.

—

They cut her hair the next day — or a few hours later, she isn't sure. That's the first time she cries in front of them.

They don't shave it, or anything, but perhaps this is even worse, to get such an uneven haircut. Her hair was long before, long blonde locks that few people saw. But she thrived in them. They were glossy and soft and Haymitch loved playing with her hair before.

Now it's short and spiked and uneven, and it doesn't even reach her shoulders. They took her makeup and her clothes and her wig and her jewelry, but this was hers. Her hair was private, and it was hers, and she can't stop the tears from falling, can't stop her hands from gripping the edges of the chair's arms, where her wrists are tied to. She tries to close her eyes, to retreat to somewhere else, to think of better things, but they slap her face until she opens them.

She's done nothing, and now she is turning into nothing.

—

She sleeps some, she has no idea how long; it feels like hours but also just a few seconds. She's not rested, and she wonders if she'll ever be.

The same Peacekeeper who questioned her wakes her up. All her life she has thought people in the Capitol had better manners and cared more about other people — two days here have completely changed her view, especially when the Peacekeeper grasps her arm in a way that will definitely bruise.

Bruises are better than death, she supposes.

They handcuff her, and put a cloth over her head — everything is dark. And then she's being taken away, to a different room, with a cloth around her head — she can't see a thing, but she hears enough that she knows she's being led through a maze of corridors and doors. Perhaps they will kill her — that's the way they do it, isn't it? Covering people's faces before killing them. Disorienting them. She trips once, because she can't keep up with them, and they shove her ahead, barely giving her time to adjust. Her breathing is hard, and she feels trapped.

She then realizes that she is indeed trapped.

Another door is opened, and she's thrown onto a hard chair.

They uncover her face, and she sees her reflection for the first time in days.

She bites back a sob, and looks away.

The Peacekeeper behind her lifts her chin once more.

"Keep looking," he advises.

Effie does so. Her hair is a mess, the white gown she's wearing makes her look too small, her face, so devoid of makeup, looks too bare here, in the company of strangers. This is not her place. She shouldn't be here.

"What's your name?" He asks, loud and clear.

Effie doesn't know why they are asking again, but she knows she must answer.

"Euphemia Trinket."

"Occupation."

Effie gulps. Are they questioning her again? She doesn't know anything. She doesn't know any plans, she doesn't—

"Occupation," he repeats, harshly.

"Escort. Of District 12."

She doesn't miss the slight smirk on the Peacekeeper's face.

"No escorts around here anymore," he comments. "No District 12, either."

"What?" Effie gasps before she can comprehend what he has just said.

His palm smacks hard against the wall behind her. Effie yelps, surprised and shocked and terrified.

"I'm asking the questions here," he warns her. Effie nods, and goes back to looking at her own reflection. They're not killing her. It must be a two-way wall. Not a mirror. "Why are you here?"

She gulps. "Because I was part of Twelve's team."

"Where are the stylists?" The Peacekeeper asks.

"They… They are dead," Effie answers, looking down. A rough hand lifts her chin once more.

"Where is Katniss Everdeen?"

She looks away from the mirror.

"I don't know."

"Where is Haymitch Abernathy?"

"I… I don't know."

"What did you know of their plan to blow the arena?"

Effie shook her head. "Nothing, I never knew of it."

This time, his gloved hand doesn't hit the wall.

It hits her instead.

In all her life, Effie has never been stricken like this — it's not a pain she knows what to expect of. She gasps, perhaps, or moans, she isn't sure; she feels blood in her mouth and thinks she must have bitten her tongue. Her head automatically leans down, and she has her eyes closed.

Only for a moment.

A second later, the Peacekeeper is lifting her head by her hair, and it's painful and she feels as if she's feeling his blow all over again on the side of her face.

"Open your eyes, Ms. Trinket," he said, and she obeyed, staring at the mirror again, breathing through her nose. "I'll ask again. What did you know of the plan?"

Effie blinks, and a few tears run down her cheeks. "Nothing, I didn't know what they were planning to do—"

"So you knew they were planning something."

He lets go of her hair, and Effie breathes in relief, nodding.

"I knew Haymitch had a plan to bring both tributes home," she admits. "I didn't know it involved some… full… rebellion. I thought it would be like last year."

He hits her again. This time, her head smacks against the wall behind her.

"So you helped him?" the Peacekeeper asked, his helmet close to her own face.

Effie shakes her head. "I only did what was required of me as an escort, I…"

He hits her again.

—

She decides she hates white while staying in that cell.

She's never liked it, truly. She remembers this one occasion where she worn a white dress to a party and felt out of her element. Haymitch had liked it. But it was plain. No patterns, or prints. Plain white was boring to her, and now she thinks it's just sad.

Such a bleak, emotionless color. Effie hates it. She hates how immaculate it is. How flawless it looks. It's not even a color, it's just the absence of it. And Effie loves color. No more white wigs for her, no… only pretty, colorful ones. A red one! She looks good in red.

If she ever gets out of here.

They come and go, the Peacekeepers; she's fed once a day, with very small portions, and she's so hungry, all the time, and so thirsty too. Sometimes they take her in for questioning. She still has the bruises from yesterday.

She hasn't lied. She's not planning on doing that, either.

She thinks she has been here at least for a few days when two Peacekeepers come and take her away. This time, they don't bother with something to stop her from seeing anything, and she realizes she knows this maze, she knows where she is — underground, in the Games' clinic. There are more cells, so many more — she hears screams and they are horrifying. She is completely horrified.

They take her to a room, an interrogation room, and she's shivering even before she's sat down. It's the woman Peacekeeper again, she realizes — she remembers her voice from days ago.

"Ms. Trinket," she says, once the Peacekeepers take their place right behind Effie. To punish her for her answers, she imagines. "I didn't think you'd stay. I'd have thought you would have saved yourself by now."

Effie raises her eyes to meet hers. "How would I do that?"

"By telling us what we need to know, of course."

Effie shakes her head. "I don't know anything."

The Peacekeeper purses her lips, narrows her eyes. Assessing her. Effie has seen that look her entire life. Judgmental people. Looking for flaws. Only this time it's not about her fashion choices or attitude.

"Ms. Trinket, do you know why you're still here?" The Peacekeeper laces her gloved fingers together on top of the desk.

Effie swallows dryly. She's so terribly thirsty. "For being Twelve's escort," her voice croaks mid-sentence. It irritates her throat.

"No, no. If that were it, you would have been executed with the other escorts," The Peacekeeper clicks her tongue. "We have no doubt Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are fond of you in some way and would like you safe, but being Haymitch Abernathy's lover has put you in the spotlight."

Effie doesn't speak. She has no reason to deny it anymore, and she hasn't lied yet — she isn't planning on starting now.

"How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Abernathy?"

Effie fidgets her fingers, wrists handcuffed together. "We try not to step on each other's toes," she says carefully. "If I don't take away his liquor he will try to keep up with the meetings I schedule."

"I didn't mean as colleagues, Ms. Trinket."

Effie's eyes dart around the room. Another white room. Oh, how she hates white.

"It's not a romantic relationship," Effie says, as firmly as she hopes. "We don't exchange gifts, or confessions, or secrets. It's… physical."

"And for how long has it been going on?"

She laces her fingers together on her lap, trying to stop them from shaking. Her legs start shaking instead.

"Four years."

The peacekeeper frowns. "That seems like a long time for something physical," she shrugs, then presses a button on the table. A projection starts from the ceiling onto the wall beside them. Effie hears it before she looks.

The heavy breathing, the moans. She feels hot all of a sudden, and her mouth gapes open.

The video is dark, thankfully, but there's the unmistakable form of a woman moving on top of a man, and she knows that's her and Haymitch, and it's even worse that she can't remember when is it from, and she snaps her eyes closed before she can look at it any longer. She won't look at the peacekeeper in front of her, although she hears the two guards behind her moving. The sounds are too loud in her ears.

"Ms. Trinket," the peacekeeper warns, and Effie opens her eyes again, focusing only on the woman sitting across from her. The video is still playing. "You mean to tell me Mr. Abernathy never told you anything personal, then?"

Effie's gaze inadvertently go to the projection again, then to the wall, then to the peacekeeper. The moaning and groaning seem to have gotten louder somehow.

"I don't… Nothing comes to mind now, no," Effie answers truthfully. She remembers conversations, sure, but nothing specific. She's kept his secrets, and he's kept hers, but those aren't relevant. Why are these people so set on her knowing something?

The peacekeeper still stares at her. On the projection, Effie hears herself orgasming, and Haymitch following her. Her face burns, and she feels the sweat pooling around her temple. She focuses on the desk instead. For a while the only sounds in the room come from the projection, of the two of them catching their breaths.

"Let's fast-forward this a little," the peacekeeper says.

Silence.

Effie looks up again. It's not as dark as it used to be, and she recognizes the room as being hers. She sees herself, just barely, on the bed, but Haymitch is mostly covering her in this angle. Anyone would think they have gone to sleep, but now there's a new sound — the television was on, she can hear Caesar's voice. Effie used to hate this habit of Haymitch. Sometimes he forgot to turn it on and she'd be able to sleep.

The light from the television is enough so that Haymitch is seen moving his lips. She can't see her own face, but she can see the outline of her hand, her fingers slowly tracing an invisible line on his chest.

It feels surreal to her, to be watching this moment now, here.

"This is from last year," the peacekeeper tells her. "It doesn't seem very physical to me."

Her mouth felt even dryer than before. "It's not like that, we don't… I don't _know_ anything."

The peacekeeper keeps staring at her, eyes unwavering. She presses the button once more, and Effie squeezes her eyes close instinctively when she hears moans again, her own moans, amid some song that is playing on the radio inside the room. A tear runs down her cheeks. Then another, and another. She doesn't need to look at the projection to know it's a different day, different time.

"Ms. Trinket, _watch_ ," it's a warning and Effie recognizes it.

It's dark again, but there's just enough lighting that she can see it's her bedroom again, and she's on fours on the bed while Haymitch is on his knees behind her. She swallows and bites her lip to stop from sobbing. The song isn't loud enough to overcome their breathing — their fucking, as Haymitch would call it.

He's leaning forward a little, whispering something against her hair, then bringing her to her knees only, his chest against her back. It's from a few weeks ago. She doesn't remember. She remembers the words. She remembers the feelings.

"Tell me, Ms. Trinket," the peacekeeper says conversationally, and Effie tears her gaze from the projection, glad that at least now there is a distraction from the radio. "These District men… are they truly better than the ones we have here? Do they have magic cocks, something like that? Abernathy always seemed like he'd be too drunk to function down there. Never mind more than once a night, which… seems to be the case quite often."

Effie remains silent; on the projection, she and Haymitch are still moving.

A lady never tells.

"I asked you a question, Ms. Trinket."

Effie turns her attention back to the peacekeeper. She moves slightly on her seat, rubs her wrists together.

"I… I have no complaints."

The woman smirks. "Clearly."

As if on cue, a moan is heard through the song. Effie cringes.

"Is this… Is this truly necessary?" she asks, avoiding the projection. "I never denied my involvement with him. You've already violated my privacy, there's no need to—"

"You've given yourself to him, Ms. Trinket, over and over again. You've given him your body and your life, since you're here because of him," the peacekeeper interrupts her. "He's not here to save you, is he? He ran away and left you here and now you're our best connection to him. He doesn't care about you. But you're one of ours, and we want to protect you. Unlike him."

To this, Effie lets out a laugh.

" _Protect_ me?" she repeats. "I've never… I'm not being protected here, you're just… waiting for a good time to kill me. I know that."

"We are hoping you'll cooperate, and then we'll set you free, as the good Capitol citizen you are," the woman tells her in a strained voice. "Haymitch left you behind. He doesn't care about you, he has bigger things to worry about now. But you're here, and we need you to tell us all that you know."

"I don't know anything!" Effie says. The song from the projection ends just as Haymitch's finishing, and Effie closes her eyes, trying to block that out. "He never told me of this plan, or of this rebellion, he didn't… he _cares_ , that's why he never told me anything, can't you see?"

"So your affair wasn't entirely physical."

Effie opens her eyes again. The projection is silent. She assumes it's over. She doesn't even glance at it.

"Does it matter?" she asks, letting out a long, deep breath. "He left me here. And I don't know anything. If I did, I'd have told you already. That's why he never told me anything. He knew I'd tell."

"You would tell us? If you knew where he was, what he was planning?"

Effie hesitates.

Just for a moment.

"Yes."

It pains her to realize she isn't lying.

The peacekeeper remains silent, watching her. Effie realizes her hands have been trembling for some time.

After what seems like an eternity, the peacekeeper speaks.

"I believe in you, Effie Trinket," she says.

Effie relaxes instantly.

It only lasts a second.

"You realize, though, that you won't be freed?" the woman continues, pressing the button once more. The projection is being fast forwarded again. "Not because of you, of course. You did all you could have done. No, this isn't your fault. It's _his_."

Effie looks at the projection again. Haymitch is running his hand over her own hair — she appears to be asleep. Effie gapes as she watches him leave her bed, so quietly, she doesn't even stir. He gives her forehead a kiss and slips away.

She blinks once, twice, repeatedly. Her breath is caught in her throat.

The peacekeeper turns her attention towards the guards.

"Take her back to her cell."

—

They wake her up, hours later. She hasn't eaten yet, and she doesn't even try to ask where they'll take her. She just goes, willingly.

They put a cloth on her head, and she can't see where they're taking her at all, only she knows she must still be in the training center. Still, she seems to walk for miles until they sit her down on a comfortable chair — so comfortable — and the smell of roses reach her nostrils. They take the cloth out of her head and she knows the room immediately — Twelve's viewing room. There are vases of white roses on each corner of the room and she watches the mahogany covering the coffee table and the corners of the screen. President Snow is sitting on the settee she and Haymitch used to share, in the beginning of the Games and whenever their tributes reached the top 8.

Effie tries to stand up, as it's only polite to do so, but the Peacekeepers keep her in place. She's sitting on one of the chairs surrounding the screen. She remembers Portia as being the last one who sat here, but she gulps the memory down.

"President Snow," Effie says, as politely as she can, but her voice is hoarse.

"Ms. Trinket," he greets her. A firm look is given to the Peacekeepers holding her. "You may go."

She hears them leave but does not look up. It is not her first time meeting with the President; in fact, it has happened a few times over the years. It was considered a privilege to work on the Games, not only as a prestige for her social life, but it also gave her a lot of political insight. Effie was just never much into politics.

This is her second time meeting him alone, though; the first time was when she first started as an escort.

She tries not to think of the rag she's currently wearing, or how awful her hair looks, or how she probably still has bruises on her face and body.

"I remember when you started, Ms. Trinket," President Snow says pleasantly. "I did not think you would last, if I'm honest. Especially in Twelve. It was such a sad, poor district, with a mentor who was not the most pleasant one. But you endured, which made me glad. Nobody else wanted the scrawny looking children of District 12 as tributes."

"I made an oath when I started working as an escort, and I do not break oaths," Effie tells him, trying to smile.

President Snow watches her for a moment. "No. I don't believe you do."

She feels the urge to ask him questions, to demand for answers, but for once she keeps quiet. She respects the president. That was part of her oath.

"You must be wondering why you're here, and why you have not joined your colleagues, the other escorts," President Snow says conversationally. "The answer is simple. You worked with Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen. I want them."

"I don't know where they are," Effie tells him loudly. Too loudly. She cringes, but the president does not change expressions at all. "I apologize. I do not know where they are. I don't know anything of them since the night I was taken."

"I believe you, Ms. Trinket," President Snow tells her. "I don't think Haymitch Abernathy trusted you enough to let you in on his plan. So if I know you are of no use to me, why are you here? If you know nothing, I could set you free, and you would probably go to your aunt. As I understand, her health has deteriorated these past few days."

Effie gulps silently. No. Not Aunt Lottie.

"I remember when you got your recommendation to start as an escort," he says again. "My advisors did not want you involved in the Games. One of them even wanted you arrested immediately. Why, the only daughter of two prominent Capitol citizens. Your father was a Gamemaker himself. Such a tragic accident that killed them both. Do you remember much of it?"

Effie shakes her head. "No, sir. I was only seven. I was sent to live with my grandmother and my aunt after that."

"No, I don't suppose you'd know much of it. But the education you received afterwards probably changed," President Snow says. "I know your aunt. She used to be a very important sponsor. Of course, she had to step away once you became an escort. But she has always been a model citizen, much like you are."

"Yes, sir. She's taught me all I know."

The President smiles then. It makes her uneasy.

"Indeed, she has," he says quietly. "She made sure you were as far from the image of your parents as possible. No one would take you for a Rebel, Ms. Trinket. Not even me. So when you decided to become an escort I didn't see you as a spy, like your father was. If anything, we'd be able to keep a close eye on you. But you were a Capitol citizen, through and through. Until yesterday, I believed that."

She doesn't think about how this all makes sense. She doesn't think about how her grandmother had been worried about her becoming an escort. She doesn't think about all the lessons on etiquette and manners and the dragging her into fashion shows and getting her interested in frivolous things — things that weren't important to her mother but were suddenly so important to her aunt and herself — she doesn't think about any of that. All Effie thinks is that no, no, she was never a Rebel. She is _not_ a Rebel. She _loves_ the Capitol.

"As I understand, as an escort you were taught to report any sort of suspicious activity from the districts you were assigned to," the President continues. "This is why the other escorts were killed. I'm sure you understand. I had no use for them anymore and they oversaw too much. That is the problem of people, you see, Ms. Trinket. They get attached."

Effie takes a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm.

"This is why you never reported Abernathy bought illegal liquor all year long. Or why you pretended not to notice his suspicious, private meetings. Or why you supported and helped him sell the star-crossed lovers story last year," the President continues. "You were not the first escort to sleep with a victor, nor were you the last. Why are you different, then, Ms. Trinket?"

"I'm not," Effie says slowly.

"Oh, but you are. On your first questioning, when Peacekeeper Holdo asked you about Haymitch Abernathy," he tells her. "You answered her by saying he's the mentor to your district. You don't have a district, Ms. Trinket. You are a Capitol citizen. Or did you want to go and live in the miserable streets of District 12?" He shakes his head and does not let her answer. "You don't _belong_ in a district, Ms. Trinket. You work _with_ a district. You are their connection to the Capitol. That is where you are different. You did not just sleep with the mentor. You _love_ him."

"I don't," Effie says quickly. Too quickly. "I do not love Haymitch."

President Snow smiles. "Yes, you do. You love him so much you don't wish you knew where he is, even though that would free you. You are no longer a Capitol citizen, Ms. Trinket. You became exactly who your parents were, only you were pragmatic about it. We got your so called district, so it became personal. You _are_ a traitor."

Effie raises her eyes to meet his. She tries hard not to cry.

"Very well," she says. "Should I expect to die in the next hours, then?"

President Snow chuckles. It sends an icy shiver throughout Effie's body.

"No, Ms. Trinket," he answers. "No. You'll live, because I don't believe love is a one way street, and I've been watching you and your team for a while. But, most importantly, you'll live because Mr. Mellark will need you. Right here."

Effie opens her mouth, but no sound comes off.

Peeta is alive.

And, just like her, he was not rescued.

* * *

 _A/N: A little nervous about the portrayal of Snow (it was my first time writing him and he's one of the best characters, imo). Another familiar face will appear in the next chapter... Any guesses?_

 _Let me know what you think of this!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After her conversation with President Snow, she's left alone for a few days.

She doesn't see anyone; they feed her once a day, and she's usually sick right away. She wonders if they're trying to kill her through the food, or if it's because she simply isn't used to being hungry all the time.

She feels weak, too. Most times, she spends her time awake lying down. Time goes by slowly, so slowly. She has no idea what time it is or what day it is or what month it is anymore. She has lost count. There are no windows here and she has no way of knowing the time, but she suspects it's night when the noises outside her cell change.

She hears a lot of steps during what she thinks is daytime. Peacekeepers, she assumes, and doctors and counselors — she doesn't care. She hears screams too, far away. From men and women. One time, someone broke free from the Peacekeepers and tried to run — at least that's what she thought. She heard the woman's screams later and they sounded familiar to her, but she couldn't place it.

She doesn't see Peeta. She knows he's in there somewhere, but she doesn't know where. No one comes in to take her anywhere; no one talks to her, and she worries. She worries that they'll forget her on purpose and kill her. She worries that this means they're all dead. Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch.

Effie doesn't sleep much. She naps in and out during all hours, although it's hard because the screams wake her often. They're worse at night, she thinks. She hears incoherent words and tossing; the person in the cell next to hers screams often. Nightmares, or whatever kind of torture they're suffering. Effie thinks the beating she's suffered must have been their simplest method.

They've given up on her, it seems.

She hasn't given up on _him_ yet.

—

They arrive at her cell one day, just when her food is supposed to arrive. Effie is surprised. She hasn't seen anyone in a while.

It's Peacekeeper Holdo who takes her.

She isn't gentle. There's a cloth over her head again, and she doesn't think this is a good omen, not for her. This is how they execute people, isn't it? Heads covered. No, but they wouldn't cover her head, they'd probably film it, like they did with the others. To show Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch and… whoever may care about her.

Effie doesn't think a lot of people do, actually. She's always had connections in the higher ranks, and nothing seems to be in her favor here, so clearly… clearly she doesn't have as many friends as she thought she had.

She just doesn't want to die.

She's always felt the need to look younger — that is so hard with powdered faces, really; she hopes this trend will be over soon — and recently she has been feeling so much older too, what with new escorts arriving and older ones leaving. She won't be beautiful forever, she knows that. But here, in this prison, devoid of makeup, covered in bruises, she's in such contact with her own mortality that for the first time in a few years she thinks she's too young for this. She's only thirty-three, and there's so much more that she wants to do, and she knows she will likely not be able to do any of that.

And she doesn't even think about parties or vacations, she thinks about… getting married, maybe. Having children, because why not? She wants to be able to run in the rain like she did once as a child and got scolded for it; she wants to sing in the shower — she misses showering _so_ bad — and she wants to have more bubble baths, she wants to _make_ _time_ for bubble baths because she never does that anymore. She wants more chocolate cake. She won't waste food anymore, she decides too. She should be grateful for it. She wants to cook, even. She was never much for it, but it will be nice to take some lessons, she thinks. Maybe she could learn how to bake cookies or how to cook a stew, with actual fire, not electric apparel. She could try to design clothes too. She's always liked that, and she has such a good eye for fashion. Maybe she can deviate from her schedules a little. Stop dieting and have actual meals with her aunt. Spend more time in bed with Haymitch. Live more freely.

She doesn't want to die here, hidden and beaten and humiliated and with Peacekeepers for company. She doesn't want to die _now_.

She's breathing so hard that the Peacekeeper tells her to calm down, not so gently.

They finally reach a room and she's roughly thrown inside, so harshly that she trips over her own feet. With her hands tied together on her back, she can't help the fall and hits her chin on the floor, bites her lip too. Hands lift her up and she has trouble finding her own feet — she may have twisted her ankle. She tastes blood when they sit her down.

She sees white when they take the cloth from her head. They are tying her feet on the chair; her ankle is throbbing. Her eyes focus when they leave to stand behind her, and she properly sees the room she's in.

It's white, not different from her cell. There's a gray desk on the corner, Peacekeepers by the door and the wall across her. And sitting right in front of her, on a similar chair, is Peeta.

"Peeta?" She gasps, and she feels the tears swell up her eyes. He's alive. Alive. He's not strapped to the chair like she is. He's not wearing a gown like hers — he's wearing good, white clothes. No bruises on his face. He looks too thin but he's not dead. He is _not_ _dead_.

He frowns when he hears her voice.

"Effie?"

He didn't recognize her before, but she doesn't even care.

"No talking," Peacekeeper Holdo says sternly. "We are here to ask you a few questions."

And they do, the same questions she has answered so many times before. She says her name and her occupation. Tells them if she knew of the plan; if she knew who was involved; if Haymitch told her anything important; if she knew where he and Katniss were. Only, this time, they don't hit her after each failed answer. They let her speak, and she looks at Peeta while she does so, trying to understand what is going on, what are they doing to him. She sees the bruises on the inside of his elbow, notices his dark eyes. Has she been hearing his screams too? Or is he here of his own accord?

"Effie," he says after a while. "The Capitol can help you. Tell us the truth."

Effie gapes at him.

"I'm not… I'm not working for anyone," she says quietly, her eyes darting from Peeta to the Peacekeepers. "I don't know anything."

"They've turned Katniss, and Haymitch is working with them, we need to know where they are," he speaks mechanically, and doesn't sound like himself. "They don't care about us, we need to stop them."

Effie shakes her head. "No. No, Peeta, I don't know where they are, but it's not like… they haven't turned against _us_."

"You're working for them too," he accuses her. Effie keeps shaking her head. "You'll help them, they want to kill me, they want to kill us all!"

"No, they would never—"

"She tried to kill me!"

"No, she asked Haymitch to save you, she wanted _you_ to win the Games, she—"

"She never wanted me to win."

"She asked Haymitch to volunteer for you if I reaped your name, she loves you, Peeta!"

He's silent, and she realizes she may have spoken too loud. A lone tear runs down his cheek and it all happens fast afterwards — her head is yanked against the hard chair and she gasps in pain; they put a bag over her head again, but this time it's not a cloth — it's plastic.

She can't breathe.

She tries to move, but something or someone is holding her back — she feels pain on her arms and hears someone yelling but she can't make out anything, because she can't breathe — her lungs are burning and she moves more, struggles more and gasps for air but only tastes plastic and she can't—she can't breathe…

The white walls turn dark really fast after that.

—

There are bruises on her arms when she wakes up. Her ankle is swollen, and she thinks her lip must be cut, although she can't check. There's blood on her gown, probably her own; her neck is sore from where the plastic bag had been tied. She imagines it's bruised as well.

She smells terrible, and she feels sick to her stomach because of it. It's a weird kind of nausea, because she's hungry and worried and so dirty, and when she tries to stand up and head to the toilet on the corner, she can't, because her ankle hurts too much.

She ends up vomiting all over the floor, right next to her tiny cot.

No one comes to clean it up, and she is sick several times that day because of it.

No one brings her food, either, or water, or medicine of any kind.

Maybe she should have died, after all.

—

They take her every day now.

They take her to a white room with mirrors and white walls and a chair, and suffocate her with a plastic bag, or attempt to drown her in a bucket of water. She thinks they are keeping Peeta on the other side of those mirrors, but she isn't sure. Sometimes, they ask her the same questions again, and slap her face; they threaten to kill her, to cut her fingers off, to rape her, but she can't do anything about it because she isn't lying, and she wishes every day Haymitch had told her something. Anything. Anything to get out of this hell.

She can barely eat; she can't keep anything down, not even water. Sometimes she vomits what little content she's had to eat and drink, but most times all she has is bile. She starts screaming too, like the others, during her sleep — so she doesn't sleep much, either. She still dreams sometimes, of better things, of a green field and a blue sky and a yellow room, with a fireplace and portraits and birds chirping — she's never liked birds much, but they are comforting somehow.

Most times, however, she has nightmares. Of seeing her own dead body in that cell, of a burning house, of people screaming, of Cinna being murdered and sometimes Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta join him too. She always wakes up screaming.

The person staying in the cell next to her taps the wall sometimes. Effie always taps back. It's comforting to know she isn't the only one, and she gets worried when she doesn't hear the taps back right away. This means her neighbor is being questioned, or tortured, or maybe will be killed soon, or perhaps she's just asleep. It's a woman, she thinks, if the screams are correct. They have a system of sorts, after so many days here.

One tap if they're not doing good. Three if they are fine. Five if they just need someone to be there.

The latter happens a lot after nightmares.

Effie's never had to use the first one yet. Even when she's not well, she doesn't use it. She's waiting for a good reason, she supposes. Like when she's sure they will kill her.

—

She doesn't know why they keep asking, because they've surely realized she's known nothing for a while. But they still ask.

Sometimes the torture starts with the questions. Each wrong answer has a reaction. A slap, a punch, a cut. She shakes when she hears them coming, and cries before it even starts.

Sometimes the questions come after the whole thing has happened. Today, she's been beaten; she's still sniffing when Peacekeeper Holdo arrives. Everything hurts in a way that she can't even believe it. She thinks she knows pain quite well now, after so many days, weeks even. She isn't sure. It's as if she's been here for an eternity.

She's tired. She's _so_ , _so_ tired.

Holdo asks her the usual question. It always starts the same, nowadays.

"Where is Haymitch Abernathy?"

Effie usually answers the same, every day.

 _I don't know._

She's tired today.

So she takes a deep breath. It's hard to do so, because her nose is still bleeding.

"I don't know where he is," Effie says. Her voice breaks, not out of weakness, or of nervousness — she's so tired, and it's in times like this that she wishes she knew something — anything. A tiny little detail that might be enough for them.

"We need to help each other, Ms. Trinket," Peacekeeper Holdo says sternly.

Effie looks at her — really looks at her, for the first time today. She looks impatient. She looks tired too. Effie wonders why she's still here.

"I didn't think we were that much different when I was brought in, you know," Effie says. She isn't even shaking today. She feels weaker than usual. Her voice is strange to her own ears. The Peacekeeper doesn't hide her surprise at her answer. "We're both killers. I pick the names. The children die after a few weeks. You keep me here, you ask questions, you order them to… try to get answers out of me."

Peacekeeper Holdo arches her eyebrows. "You're not dead yet."

Effie shakes her head. "No, indeed," she meets her gaze. "That makes you worse than me."

No more words are exchanged. She's taken back to her cell.

—

There's a commotion one day. Peacekeepers up and down. Yells, screams. Effie hears Peeta now, clearly, several times, every day. He isn't close to her, but close enough that she hears him now. They televise executions often. They've killed many Victors who weren't in the Quell. Haymitch and Katniss aren't there yet.

Effie feels relief every time she notices that, from her cot. She also feels some pain inside, a swelling in her chest. Why didn't they take her too? Why didn't Haymitch take her when he left, that evening, after their shower?

There are no executions from the prep teams, either. Effie thinks they must all be around here somewhere. Octavia, and Venia, and Flavius — Portia, too. She misses Portia and their dinner parties and their cocktails. It's comforting that Portia either hasn't been killed or managed to escape. She hopes she won't have the same fate as Cinna.

Still, the commotion doesn't stop. She thinks they are transferring prisoners, maybe. A lot of doors open and close. Hers remains closed. Her friendly neighbor taps the wall every now and then, probably wondering if Effie is still there. Three taps now, then three taps again a few hours later.

Effie falls asleep after the second time. She feels weak today. She hasn't even managed to get up yet, and she's dirtier than ever. There's vomit on the floor from the previous day, too. Sometimes she takes the sheets from her bed to clean it. She hasn't been able to do that today at all.

She feels funny when she wakes up. She feels strangely warm and wet, and so tired, and she tries to sit up but she can't, because she's so weak she can't even lift her own body from the bed. She looks down, and feels dizzy — the white walls spin around her. She briefly spots the untouched plate of food by her door. She should eat, she knows that — she's weak enough without food, however small a portion it is.

So she takes a deep breath. And another. And another.

That's when she smells blood.

She manages to lift her head a little, and sees the blood on the mattress. She's bleeding, heavily. She still feels so dizzy.

This is the end, she thinks. She will indeed die here, surrounded by colorless walls. She wants to cry, but there are no tears left. A dry sob escapes her throat, because she is in pain too, from her ankle and her abdomen and her arms and her back — she will die here, and no one will even notice.

She taps the wall once before she has no strength to even keep her eyes open.

—

White walls again. Always white. That's what Effie sees when she wakes up.

It's not the usual white, though. Not the white from her cell. The smell is different, too. It doesn't smell like blood anymore, or vomit, or anything — it's strangely clean, somehow. She doesn't feel itchy either, which she has been feeling for a while because she is so dirty, all the time.

The bed isn't the worst, either.

She blinks. Her vision is a little hazy. There's some beeping too. Is she in a hospital? Was she rescued and she doesn't remember?

There's an IV hooked to her arm. She feels alert, more alert than she's felt in a long time. She blinks again. Her vision is clear now. She recognizes this place. She's never been here as a patient before, but she has had to bring Haymitch in more than once to recover from an alcoholic coma. She spent a lot of time here when Katniss and Peeta won, too.

The Victors' hospital.

Despite the beeping, everything is silent. That's not very comforting somehow.

Effie sits up, very slowly. She feels tingly and light — morphling. Whatever they're doing to her, they've ended her pain. She's grateful for that, at least. One of the IV bags is filled with blood. The other has a transparent fluid in it. She inspects it slowly. It seems like they're trying to make her stronger.

She runs a hand through her hair, with her free arm — her hair is soft enough and it's safe to say she has been washed. There's a bandage on her forehead and, upon closer inspection, on her chest and arms, and also around her ankle. It seems like she's finally being treated for some of her wounds.

Hope fills her body. Maybe she has been rescued, after all.

She lies back down slowly. Despite the improvement, she feels a little sore still. She isn't brave enough to peak through the hospital gown and see what else they've done to her body.

When she wakes again, there's a woman next to her bed, changing the fluids of her IV. Effie starts.

"What's going on?" She asks, and she doesn't care that it's rude. She doesn't care that maybe they'll just take her to be questioned again for her insolence. She's been punished for asking questions often enough, but she needs to know. "What am I doing here?"

The woman startles as well. She looks scared somehow, and Effie isn't sure why — what is she supposed to do against this doctor? She has no strength, she's still a little sedated, and she's still bruised and hurt.

"They brought you here days ago, Ms. Trinket," the woman says quickly, eyes darting to the door. "You were losing a lot of blood, and they told us to keep you alive. We've… we've treated some of your wounds, because they've been too busy to notice."

Effie lets out a breath that sounds like a sob. She hasn't been rescued.

Judging by this woman's nervous eyes, she's a captive here as well.

"Thank you," Effie's voice is hoarse. She doesn't know if she's truly thankful, but it's only proper, if they've saved her life. "May you tell me what day it is?"

"It's Wednesday, Ms. Trinket," the woman says in a low voice.

Effie shakes her head. "I apologize. I meant the current date."

"September 8th, Ms. Trinket," the woman tells her.

Effie nods, and closes her eyes. She's been here for almost two months. It feels like years.

"Just… Just Effie, please," she requests. No one has called her by her own name, or nickname, for two months. She's so tired of hearing her last name in the same tone, all day, every day. She can use a false sense of friendship.

"I'm Sofia," the doctor offers. "I heard they'll transfer you as soon as you're awake," she says again, and Effie looks at her properly now. "We're supposed to let them know right away, but I can… I'll wait a little."

Effie nods. Sofia is familiar to her, but without makeup it's hard to guess. Her eyes are purple — surgically modified for sure. Effie suddenly remembers her as a purple-haired doctor who took care of Katniss.

"I remember you," Effie says. "You fixed Katniss' ear. Haymitch yelled at you for wanting to modify her."

Sofia nods. "Yes. I was just following orders, though," up close, Effie notices she must be around her own age. She isn't ugly, not at all. The natural look works for her. "I'm… I'm sorry I couldn't fix you, Ms. Trinket."

Effie's eyes widen a little. "What? What's wrong with me?"

"Your ankle should be mostly healed, and we did the best we could for your ribs," Sofia starts. Effie can tell there's more to those than the surface. "If… If you are able to rest I think you'll heal just fine from your other bruises, as well. If we could keep you on medicine, you wouldn't feel any pain."

Effie knows this won't happen. None of it. She doubts she'll be able to rest. She doubts she'll have access to any medicine.

"I'm sorry. We couldn't save your baby."

That gives Effie some pause.

She doesn't believe her own ears.

"I'm… I'm sorry?"

Sofia laces her fingers together in front of her. She looks nervous. Her eyes look at the closed door again.

"You were pregnant, Effie," she says. "Seven weeks. You had a miscarriage. It was likely caused by the physical stress you've been under."

Effie gapes at her. An uncomfortable warmth fills her body. Her throat feels tight.

"The officers didn't know," Sofia continues. "We had to perform surgery to take the fetus out."

"I had an implant," Effie finds herself saying. Her voice sounds too detached.

"They would have deactivated any implant you had when they brought you in. If you had intercourse a few days before, it is possible," Sofia explains. "I'm sorry. I think you'll be transferred to a regular prison now. I don't think they'll question you any further."

Effie brings a hand to her mouth, covering it. Her lip was wobbling, beyond her control. She was pregnant. Somehow, she conceived a baby and… how did it last seven weeks here? How did it even last so long? She couldn't… she didn't have a chance with it. At all. She and Haymitch conceived a child, and she never had a chance to even know it. She lets out a sob.

"It didn't cause any lasting damage," Sofia tells her. "You should be able to have children in the future, should you want to."

Will she want to? Will she have a chance to even think of it?

Why didn't they leave her in that cell to die?

She starts crying. She hasn't cried this much since the day they cut her hair. It seems silly to cry over hair now.

She lost her fashion, her sense of self, her dignity and her privacy in this place. She could handle that.

She can't handle this—it's too painful. It's more painful than anything else.

She can't stop crying.

Sofia tries to comfort her at first, but her hand covering Effie's only bring her more sadness. It's the first touch of kindness she's shared in two months. The doctor brings her water later too, and Effie drinks it, even though she isn't thirsty — instinct, she supposes, after being dehydrated for so long. The tears don't stop, though. The sobs turn into silent sniffs after a while. Effie doesn't know why. She didn't know she was pregnant. She didn't feel the baby. It wasn't even a proper baby yet, was it?

It makes her sick to think that she had a tiny life inside of her while they did those things to her. It makes her devastated to think that Haymitch had somehow left something behind with her, only to be taken away. She wasn't given a chance to be a mother — all she did was endanger that baby. She lost everything — they've taken all she had to offer.

She's served a proper meal that day, but she can't bring herself to eat, and that simple lack of action is enough to make her cry again.

Afterwards, when her tears have dried and they've unhooked the IVs from her arm, Peacekeeper Holdo arrives, followed by Sofia, with a wheelchair. Effie doesn't react.

"You'll be transferred to a rehabilitation center, Ms. Trinket," Holdo tells her. "The President believes you have done enough, for now."

Effie sits up slowly, and accepts Sofia's help to go to the wheelchair. She doesn't look at Holdo.

"Why are you here, then?" She asks. Her voice is hoarse from crying.

"I wanted to make sure you were healthy," Holdo says. Effie blinks at the venom in her voice. "Is there anything you would like to share before you go?"

Effie hears the challenge in that tone. Maybe in the past she would have retorted something. Maybe she would have told her that she's a monster, or that she kills children before they even have a chance to live, or that she's worse than Effie thought. But Effie says nothing, and shakes her head.

"Very good, Ms. Trinket," Holdo says. Their gazes meet, but Effie doesn't hold it for long. "The guards will take her now."

The last part is addressed to Sofia, who nods and guides Effie towards the door. They wait until Holdo has left and the doctor tells Effie, very quietly:

"Don't lose hope, Ms. Trinket. This can't go on for much longer."

Effie tries to nod, but she can't bring herself to do it. Sofia's hand touches hers, and Effie shares a look with her — she thinks she sees despair in her eyes, and maybe more wishful thinking than actual hope, but in that moment that's enough for both of them. Effie wants to be grateful, and she thinks that perhaps she will be, one day, but today is not that day, and Sofia understands it.

They part without another word.

* * *

 _A/N: Did anyone see that coming?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The walls are gray now.

Not… light gray. Not the blue-ish gray of Haymitch's eyes.

They're a heavy gray. It reminds her of dirt.

She's given a white uniform again. It's not much of an improvement, but at least it's not a gown, and it's warmer, even if it's still rough and the fabric is still too thin.

She has a cell again. She doesn't share with anyone. The door is made of glass, though, and so is the wall surrounding the door, so she sees what happens in the corridor. The prisoner in front of her is a man old enough to be her father. She thinks he might have been a sponsor, but she isn't sure. She doesn't talk, and neither does he.

The Peacekeepers don't talk much either. They bring her food two times a day. The portions are still small, but they must be the double of what she was receiving before. Water is available all the time. She has a toilet that works and gives her some privacy. A female Peacekeeper escorts her to the shower once every two days.

The rehabilitation center turns out to be just a fancy term for a prison, but it's like a very good hotel for her after what she's been through.

There are no windows here either, so she can't know when it's day or night, but she hears the radio from the Peacekeeper in charge of this floor and Effie can tell what time it is from it. She follows war news, more or less — she catches glimpses of things here and there. There's a lot of talk of District 13, for some reason, but she doesn't know much beyond that. She knows Katniss must be alive. She thinks Haymitch is too, because the Peacekeepers here know who she is and sometimes taunt her with comments. Effie never replies. At least they haven't touched her in any way. At least she isn't beaten every day, or drowned, or asphyxiated.

She doesn't eat much. Her stomach can't take much, actually. Even when she's hungry — that only happens days after she's been in this facility, and Effie doesn't like being hungry, but she still can't eat much without being sick.

Her hair grows out unevenly. It's not pretty, but she's happy she can keep it clean now.

She spends days at a time without raising her voice. She scrapes the wall next to her bed every time she sleeps, so she can keep count of the days. She's grateful for Sofia, for telling her it was September — it seems so simple, but she's grateful to have been given back her notion of time.

Effie has been in the facility for thirteen days when she realizes it's her birthday. She's thirty-four, her ankle is almost completely healed, she's still black and blue in many places, she's in pain a lot but she's learnt how to deal with it, and there are some scars on her neck that she isn't sure they'll heal. There's a scar on her navel too. She tries not to think about that one.

She has nightmares. The guards here don't like it when she yells, so somehow she's learnt to be quiet about it. She wakes up in cold sweats a lot. She dreams of fire, of birds and of small white rooms; of dead children and dead babies. The gray isn't good, but it's more comforting than the white.

In here, she thinks about Haymitch a lot. Before, she didn't have much time to do so. In here, she wonders if he's alive, if he's dead, if he cares, if he thinks about her at all. She tries not to go back to some of their moments together, but it's impossible not to. She thinks back to their last night and wonders if his tenderness is just something her own mind has created after so long in captivity. It's hard to tell what she's made up and what's real when the only company she has is herself.

She's lonely.

Sometimes, on good nights, she dreams of parties and events and of chocolate covered strawberries. She's given books to read here, and notebooks to write — when she's done with the book of the week she turns to the notebook and draws instead of writing. She draws outfits, mostly. She tried to think of haute couture at first, but it didn't seem right. She draws the simplest things now, really; a plain summer dress, flat shoes, pearl earrings. The dress has flower patterns in it. She thinks it'll look nice in yellow, but she only has one gray pencil, so gray it is.

Effie draws other outfits too — a T-shirt that would look good on Peeta, a jacket for Katniss, boots for her too; the first thing she draws thinking of Haymitch is a robe, and she laughs at the absurdity of it; she has never, not once in her life, seen Haymitch wearing a robe.

Sometimes she draws scenery too, but she isn't very good at it. Mostly trees, and clouds. Whatever she hopes it's out there that day. She longs for daylight, and rain, and music. Inside these walls, she listens to prisoners' laments and news of a war she barely understands.

The physical pain stops after a few weeks. She still has trouble eating, she's still weak, she's still nauseous a lot, but she's alive, and when she realizes she's still hurting on the inside she knows that she isn't completely lost yet.

It's better to feel pain than nothing at all.

—

When the weeks go by and she's still there, within the same four walls every day, repeating it all over again, Effie wonders if she'll ever see them all again. Her family, however small it is — a part of her wonders if her aunt is still alive, but she tries not to duel on that —, Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch. Sometimes, when she's done sketching and reading and she can't sleep, she thinks about what she wants to say to him, what she'll do when they see each other again.

She plays conversations in her head. He will say he's sorry, she thinks. She isn't sure if she'll forgive him. Some days, she does; others, not so much. It depends on the day, on the nightmare she's just had, on how much food she's able to eat that day.

One day, the food doesn't come.

Effie's sick that day, whether it is from hunger or because she's reminded of her time in the detention center, she isn't sure.

Some prisoners call, or cry out, and complain. The Peacekeepers ignore them. Effie does nothing. She doesn't want to fight anyone. She's still clean. She hasn't been beaten. There's water, too.

It takes her two days to realize most of the Peacekeepers have left.

They don't hear much from the cells — Effie suspects she's underground — but they feel things. Impacts. Sometimes, the building shakes a little. It's not much at all, but it's noticeable. She has been surviving on water alone for three days and she hasn't been able to leave her cell at all. No more books. Her notebooks are all stacked under her tiny bed.

She goes back to Sofia's words, from weeks before. Her time with her is hazy, but Effie remembers their conversations well enough.

 _This can't go on for much longer._

It lasts two more days for Effie.

They come at night, she thinks, and she's in bed when it all happens. Without food, she's back to feeling tired and weak. She doesn't move a lot, but at least she hasn't been sick. There's some fighting, she assumes, and suddenly there are people — soldiers — wearing dark uniforms, walking down the corridor. Most prisoners stay silent this time.

Dread fills her when they start opening some cells and taking people out, not in a gentle way. She stays in bed the whole time, in the corner of her cell, hoping they won't take her — she can't bear to be questioned again. She won't be able to go through it again.

They have a list, she realizes — they get the older man who had been in the cell in front of her — and they're standing in front of her glass wall, and she's shaking like she hasn't shaken in weeks. They break the lock and two soldiers enter. They carry guns and wear helmets and glasses.

"Euphemia Trinket," he says, reading her name on a tablet. Their faces are completely covered — her name is pronounced slowly, as if it's too foreign to him. "Is that you, ma'am?"

Effie's eyes dart from one soldier to the other — assessing, trying to determine what she should do. In the end, either because she's too afraid of what will happen or because she's too weak, she has no reaction at all.

"She's on the list," the soldier states. "We should take her to Intelligence."

The other soldier pauses. "She looks like she needs the medics first."

The first one shakes his head. "You know the drill."

Effie does too, she thinks; she will be questioned, this time for the other side, she assumes. If she had any faith left, she may have prayed — then and there, however, she lets herself be taken away, although her steps are uneven and the sounds are so, so loud — explosions, and gunshots, and yelling, and it's too much all at once.

Her vision blacks out before she's even out of the corridor.

—

 _I don't know anything._

It's the truth, and yet no one seems to believe her. Not before, not now. They gave her fluids when they first brought her in, but as soon as she could talk the questions started. She answered what she could, but as soon as she said her occupation she could see nothing could help her now. To these people, she is one of the others. To the others, she is one of these people.

That's when Effie realizes she won't win, no matter who wins this war.

Now, she is being kept in what must be an interrogation room — inside a tent, in the middle of the Capitol ruins. She cried when she first noticed where exactly she was — she doesn't want to think of the rest of the city. The ground here in uneven, and she feels it with each step she takes — her ankle isn't as healed as she thought it was.

They didn't feed her, but offered a glass of water. One of the soldiers had pushed her inside the tent and her shoulder still hurts from the movement — she thinks it might have been dislocated while she had been in prison. The fluids are enough to keep her on her feet, or at least awake, but her stomach aches and her breathing feels faint. They left her alone for now, and she wonders — she can't help but expect them to take her away, to another cell, to be questioned by more people, to be left alone again.

She'd rather die than go through that again.

She closes her eyes, trying to ignore the explosions in the distance, but she only sees glimpses of her nightmares, Cinna dead, her own blood all over her gown, her poor reflection in the mirror inside the detention center, and she opens her eyes again. She hears her own heart pounding so loudly against her chest — there's yelling, and steps from outside, and maybe hovercrafts? This is a war and she's right in the middle of it. Both literally and figuratively.

She gasps for air. It's as if there's not enough oxygen here. But she knows there is — she's outside. She hasn't been outside in months.

She feels chilly — it's almost winter now, and she's only wearing these thin clothes. She needs to try and control her breathing before they come to take her away. There are steps, coming closer. _In, out. In, out. In… it's not enough._ She can't breathe.

The tent's wall moves with the wind and Effie turns her head to look at it, thinking someone is there. _In, out._ There's more yelling outside. She tries to remember the last time someone showed some manners around her. Are manners even important nowadays? She isn't sure. _In, out._ Her hands are shaking too — maybe because of the cold. She's still wearing the white uniform from the rehabilitation facility. _In, out._

There's movement again, and someone enters the tent.

She stops breathing.

"Effie."

She hasn't heard her nickname in so long, being pronounced in such a tender, whisper-like way — she feels as if it's a dream. She wondered what she'd do when she saw him again, but she forgot to take into question what he'd do when he saw her, after all these months.

He reaches her before she can react — his arms are around her before she can understand what's happening; she feels the warmth of his chest, hears the beating of his heart against her ear, and lets out a truly relieved breath, the first in nearly five months, in his arms. The air leaves her lungs slowly, and fills it again just as naturally.

"Haymitch," she tries to say, but it ends up being more of a sob than his name.

He's embracing her so tightly she feels a little sore, but it's not uncomfortable. Her arms encircle him and grasp his shirt — or is it a sweater? — and he feels solid around her, he smells clean and like cheap soap and of him, and she—she can't stop crying.

He's here. He's truly here.

"I'm—I'm mad at you," she says between sobs, and she never imagined her first words to him would be these.

She feels his chuckle against her ears, and his voice sounds weird to her. Hoarse — raw.

"I'm mad at me, too," he mumbles, and she feels his nose against her hair.

That's when she pulls away.

"No, I'm—I'm disgusting, don't—"

"Sweetheart," he says, so quietly. His palms caress her cheeks, so tenderly, so softly, she can't stop the tears from falling. He shakes his head, and he has that look on his face, the look he gives her when she's just said something silly, but she doesn't care anymore. "I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay? Do you feel any pain? Have you been checked out at the hospital?"

"I… No, they gave me some fluids then they brought me here," Effie tells him, and it feels so good to say words like this, without thinking too carefully about them. It feels so good to talk to someone. "They — questioned me. I… my stomach, it's not doing well, but…"

"Have they hurt you?" he snarls, and the tone in his voice is enough to make Effie cringe.

"No, not them. Not on purpose."

It's a simple sentence, but he understands it for what it is, even though Effie doesn't think he has any idea of what truly happened. The details are so hazy that she doesn't think she can tell them all.

"Let's get you checked out," Haymitch says with some finality. "I'm taking you with me now."

Effie nods. "You always… You always had a talent for being late."

Her words are bitter, but also true — and Haymitch cringes as if he's pain — lips pursed, hard eyes, frown. Everything in its place. Why is his beard so hideous? Is he wearing a beanie?

The details jump to her mind as if she's only now noticing him, and she hates how uncouth he looks, but then… he was always so uncouth.

She loves him for it.

It's the first time she admits so to herself.

"Effie, I…"

He starts, but she shakes her head.

"You said you were taking me with you now. I… I want to go now, Haymitch."

He takes her hand, and his other arm is around her shoulders. He nods and they start to walk away.

He's late, he's so incredibly late, and she hates him, but he's alive, and she loves him.

It's enough for now.

—

She's asleep when she gets to the hovercraft, or maybe she's fainted, Effie isn't sure — she's just so tired all the time, and so hungry, and all she wants to do is sleep. And so she does sleep, for a long time, she thinks, and it's all she's ever wanted. When she wakes up, and sees the white walls and sees the bed and the machines and her hospital gown, she freaks out.

She hears the beeping of the machines grow louder and more frequent and she tries to control her breathing but it's so, _so_ hard — and this looks so much like the Capitol, it looks so much like the room she stayed in before the rehabilitation center, and she's just so, so tired, and maybe the rehabilitation center, maybe it's just all in her head — maybe she's still in the Victors' hospital, maybe they aren't done interrogating her, maybe…

A young girl enters the door first, and it's not Sofia, it's young Primrose — Katniss' little sister. Katniss' lovely little sister. Effie's eyes dart towards the door and another healer arrives, and she glimpses a soldier looking into the room.

"Effie," the girl says, firmly, "look at me. You're safe now. Haymitch brought you here."

 _Haymitch_.

Haymitch brought her here.

"You're in District 13," Primrose tells her. The other doctor is checking the monitors close to the bed. "Try to relax, okay? We're going to help you."

Effie nods, or tries to. Her vision turns to black not long afterwards.

—

The walls here are grey. A dirty grey. It's different from the rehabilitation center. It's cold too, and impersonal, but it's a little warmer somehow. Not by much, but it's a little better.

Effie wonders if that's just because she knows people here. As in, she knows people within these walls who don't want to cause her any harm. They aren't many, though — just Haymitch, and Plutarch, and Fulvia. Venia, Flavius and Octavia are here too. They visit her on her second day here.

The doctors are nice, and Effie recognizes her nurse as being Katniss' sister, Primrose — what a sweet girl she is. Effie hasn't been allowed outside the medical bay yet; her records haven't arrived from the Capitol and she can't really tell what exactly happened to her. Every time she tries, her voice fails. So no one knows, not really, and some things she doesn't even know herself.

She doesn't see Haymitch during her first day in District 13. Her voice is still hoarse from being alone for too long, and Effie knows she's weak and dehydrated. They keep her on IV fluids the whole time, and give her new clothes that aren't as rough as the uniforms she had been wearing before. The shampoo smells generic, but it's better than soap, even if her hair is still dry and looking unhealthy. In the past, she would have demanded proper hair care. Now — she doesn't see the point.

She doesn't look at her own reflection in the little mirror on the bathroom wall, though.

They feed her too, and the food is plain and simple but it's food — actual food, in good portions that she can't bring herself to eat without getting sick yet. But she'll get there.

Octavia is more open about the treatment here, in this new place, and it's through her that Effie finds out not everything is safe for her yet.

"President Coin doesn't know what to do with you," she whispers, very quietly. "Haymitch is trying to reason with her. They killed many people in the Capitol, but she wants nothing to do with the Games here. No association with the Capitol. _Nothing_."

If someone had told Effie Trinket seven years ago that her life would be in Haymitch's hands, she would have laughed and said she was as dead as a corpse.

It wasn't much of a comfort, to know that they didn't care to keep her alive here.

She doesn't see him during her second day, but she welcomes the prep team with what she hopes is a smile. They look different in the grey uniforms, and they look at her so differently, and she wonders — she knows — that life as they used to know it is over. Whatever lies ahead, will be so very different, and she fears it, despite knowing these people are fighting for a better country. She fears it because deep down she wishes she wasn't a part of all of this. Deep down, she wishes someone could go back to her past and tell her that becoming an escort would be the worst decision of her life.

An officer arrives early in the evening, right after she's had dinner — he doesn't look friendly, and his tone is dry as he asks her questions, but she isn't able to answer to more than five basic questions before the air leaves her lungs, and she can only think of one thing.

 _I don't know._

 _I don't know._

 _I don't know._

The machines that are hooked to her beep loudly and she thinks she sees a doctor — she's shaking so badly, she feels so cold, she can't breathe — before her eyes close of their own accord.

—

When she wakes up, very early on the second morning since she arrived here, the first thing she sees is a figure sitting on a chair by the bed.

She hasn't noticed the chair at all. Maybe it wasn't there before.

Haymitch is asleep too. His face is scrunched up and he doesn't look comfortable at all. Effie tries to speak, but her mouth feels dry. She coughs — it's a weak attempt, at least.

It draws him from sleep.

Her mind feels so hazy — she sees a needle on her arm and IV fluids there; there are no windows, and the light is very, very soft. It almost lulls her back to sleep. She's exhausted, and she could definitely do with a few more hours of sleep, but she has so many questions, and she hasn't really spoken to anyone, not really, not about what's important, in so long…

"Hey, Sweetheart," Haymitch is standing up, taking slow steps towards her bed. She's trying to sit up but it's hard to do so in this bed. He presses a few buttons and the bed is reclined; she's half-sitting now. It's not so uncomfortable. "You want some water?"

Effie nods.

He goes to a small counter on the corner of the room — there's a jar there. He puts the water in a small plastic cup and raises it to her lips. She drinks it quickly, too quickly for him to catch up, and he chides her about it.

"Easy," he says, softly. It's almost surreal to see Haymitch here. To be here. It's so strange to her. "How are you feeling?"

She doesn't answer him at all.

"Primrose said I'm in District 13," Effie says. "No one really explained it to me yet. How am I here? How is this possible?"

"It was never destroyed. They hid underground," he says patiently. "I came here after the Quell. Katniss, Plutarch and Finnick too. We are… allies in this. Against the Capitol."

He tells her the story, more or less — of the rebellion, of flying the Capitol after Katniss exploded the arena; how District 13 has been hidden for so many years, and how they're dealing with everything. Effie doesn't have a lot of questions — she's not interested in the political side of things. She never was. She just wants to know simple things — how are Katniss and Peeta? what happened to Portia? is her aunt okay? — but most of the questions require answers Haymitch doesn't know yet.

A part of her doesn't believe District 12 is destroyed, either. She never liked the place much, but to have it completely ruined seems like… an exaggeration, to say the least. All those people, dead. She doesn't ask much about it because she can see it's still hurting Haymitch. His explanations are vague at best, about everything: the children are alive, in the Capitol; the rebellion includes District 13, which has been hidden for decades; District 12 is destroyed, half of Districts 2 and 8 are in ruins. She doesn't understand some things, but she's not interested enough now to look at the big picture. Maybe in a few days.

"They executed Portia when we rescued Peeta," he tells her quietly, after he said Katniss and Peeta are in the Capitol, but their status is unknown. "That was two months ago."

Effie nods. It's not a surprise. Her heart aches, but whatever hope she had for Portia was never grand.

"Cinna died right when the Games began," Haymitch continues, letting out a sigh. "Just like we expected. Katniss saw it happen. They did it to unstable her."

Something clicks in Effie then. It only takes a second.

"'We' expected?" She repeats. " _You and Mr. Heavensbee,_ you mean."

He remains silent. Effie shakes her head slightly.

"I… I saw Cinna," she says, very softly. "I watched it when… I don't know if it was live. They didn't just kill him."

Haymitch puses his lips. "No. They never do."

Effie gulps.

"Why didn't you tell me anything?"

Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

"Thought you'd be safer not knowing," Haymitch says. "Plutarch didn't think they'd imprison you. Question, yes, but not imprison."

A humorless laugh escapes her lips.

"They called me a guest there," Effie tells him. Her voice is surprisingly strong now. She feels detached. "They'd say they were only trying to help me. It's funny, isn't it? That they wanted to _help_."

Haymitch raises a hand to his face, and he rubs his palm against his eyes.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Effie shakes her head.

"Don't be," she says, and she means it. "It's not your style. It's not your fault, either."

"If I hadn't listened to Plutarch—"

"I missed the hovercraft," she tells him. It's rude to interrupt, but she can't bring herself to care. "I was on the roof, but then the phone rang. I went back to the penthouse. The Peacekeepers arrived when the hovercraft did, I heard it. If I had been up there, maybe… I suspect there would have been time."

He takes her hand then. His skin is warm, comforting against her palm. He looks uncertain, but a little less than he was two minutes ago, and Effie realizes then — he was worried she'd have blamed him, or that she would have cast him away, or…

Effie can't really wrap her head around any of that.

"I don't think they'd have spared me anyway," she continues, she isn't sure why. Maybe it's because his hand is against hers and she isn't used to this sort of contact anymore. "It's hazy, but… there was talk of my parents. They died when I was a child," she explains. Haymitch doesn't know much about her personal life. She shakes her head again. "I don't know. The President was cryptic."

His hold tightens around her hand. "You saw him?"

Effie nods. "Once. It was enough."

He doesn't ask anything else — for her sake or his, she isn't sure. His thumb is drawing patterns against her wrist, and she relaxes. She still feels drowsy, and tired, but she's at ease with him there.

"They are approaching the center of the city. Once it's over, we can go look for your aunt and—we can check your apartment," he tells her. Effie turns her head to look at him. He looks tired — he looks older. She thinks she mustn't look much different. Does she even want to check her apartment? And… see her things destroyed, or her clothes that make no sense anymore? She isn't so sure. "It won't go on for much longer."

Effie blinks. Sofia told her that, weeks ago.

"Was there anyone else?" she finds herself asking. Haymitch frowns. "In the prison. Was there anyone else that we knew? From the Games."

He nods. "Yeah. Sponsors, avoxes, maintenance workers, anyone who knew anything and they couldn't trust."

"There was a doctor," she starts anxiously, "in the Tribute Center. That's where I was at first, and she… She was very kind to me. They were keeping her there too. Her name was Sofia. I can't remember her last name, I was… It's very hazy."

Haymitch seems a little perplexed — it's the most she's said since she arrived here. But she feels a need to — to thank the woman, for whatever she had to do to save her. She wants to ask her questions, she hopes she's not a captive anymore, and she hopes she will have a chance to be grateful.

"I'd like to thank her," Effie continues. She feels tears stinging her eyes, but she blinks them away. Haymitch still watches her — she's sure he's noticed. "For her kindness."

"I'll add her name to the list," Haymitch says, "and I'll see if she's been located yet. We haven't been to the center since the other victors were rescued, so it may take some time."

Effie nods weakly, her free palm feeling the softness' of the bed covers. It's not as soft as she had been used to — it feels battered and old, but it's clean. She notices her nails are still dirty and too long and they feel uncomfortable to her.

"Would you like anything else?" his voice brings her back to the present. "There are schedules for the meals, but I can try to ask them to bring you something early, if you're hungry."

"It's fine," her words are final. He doesn't insist.

She moves her arms a little, her hand slipping away from his. He watches her for a moment before crossing his arms in front of his chest, his gaze never wandering away.

"I must look a sight," Effie comments. She brings a hand to her hair, with the arm that isn't hooked into IVs, and tries to straighten it, but it's hard when she hasn't properly looked in a mirror in so long. She is afraid to. Her hair feels wild and dry against her fingertips.

The ghost of a smile crosses Haymitch's face. "It's a good one, princess," he says, but her gaze doesn't meet his. She feels so very self-conscious. He clears his throat and she looks up again. "They'll want to question you soon."

She freezes.

"No."

"I'll stay if you want me to," he tells her. "They won't hurt you."

"I don't know _anything_."

"They want intel," Haymitch says. "They want to know about your imprisonment. Where you were, who did you see. This sort of thing. It's not really related to you and it won't be threatening. It's… I know it's gonna be difficult, but you gotta do this. You gotta help them. Okay?"

She understands more of what he doesn't say than his actual words.

She must earn her place here.

Effie blinks, then looks down. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

She doesn't need to look up to know he is shaking his head.

* * *

 _A/N: I'm sorry it took me some time to update, it's been a busy couple of weeks! Right now I think the story will consist of 8-10 chapters, and I have 3 more chapters already written, so I'll try to update more frequently. Thank you all for the comments - and now Haymitch found Effie, but they still have a lot to overcome. Will she tell him of the pregnancy, of her thoughts in prison, where does she stand in all this? Let me know your thoughts!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry this took a while! I wanted to finish the story before posting the rest and new ideas came to mind. This will be 8 chapters long, hope everyone likes it! Let me know your thoughts :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

They start with questions from before. What she knew, who she knew, what she did, the names she picked. They judge her, the two officers from Thirteen, and Effie feels uneasy through the whole interview, even if Haymitch quietly sits on the corner — she had imagined his presence would be more comforting, but it isn't.

She's reminded of waking up in the Victors' hospital, with dread and hope in her heart at the same time. Lying there, the only thing she can think of is that perhaps this will always be her place, after all.

Between Haymitch and the others.

Despite her fears, she isn't prepared when they ask of her imprisonment. But she tells them, of the questioning, of her cell, of the presence of the prisoner in the next cell who would talk to her through the wall — she pauses often, and doesn't go into many details about the ordeal. _They_ _want_ _intel_ , she keeps reminding herself. So she tells them names — of Peacekeepers, of prisoners she saw while she was held captive. She tells them she saw Peeta once, and the President on another occasion. She doesn't mention the personal nature of her conversation with them, just the facts — it's too much sometimes, even if she forces herself to remain distant.

It used to be so easy to talk. It's so hard to do so now.

She's worried the little information she has won't be enough to keep her alive.

"Do you remember when the power was out?" One of the officers, Evans, asks.

Effie frowns. "I beg your pardon?"

"Power went down in the Capitol for hours during the mission to rescue the Victors. You would have been in the Tribute Center then."

She doesn't like the accusatory tone in his voice. It makes her nervous.

"I don't remember," she says truthfully. "I lost a lot of blood one day, I passed out—I woke in the Victors' hospital later. I don't know how much time passed in between," the officers exchange a look. "I mean it. I was transferred to the rehabilitation center afterwards."

"Why would they send you to the hospital?"

She hesitates.

"I had lost a lot of blood," she says carefully. She avoids thinking of the real issue. "I would have died if they hadn't treated me."

"Why didn't they let you die, then?"

They think she's lying.

They think she's lying about the torture. They probably think she was just kept in the rehabilitation center to keep her close. To protect her, even.

Her voice is rough when she speaks again.

"I suspect they thought they might be able to use me later," she shrugs. "Maybe televise my death. I had been expecting it for some time."

"You were brought in with dehydration and malnourishment and a badly healed ankle," the officer points out.

She doesn't know what he wants her to say. Her hands are shaking and she grips the sheets that cover her body instinctively, trying to stop the trembling. There's a buzz in her head.

"What are you insinuating?" Haymitch growls, finally walking to her side. "She was there for four months. They didn't kill her because they wanted to use her as leverage."

"Against who?" The officer asks.

"She's the Mockingjay's escort. Katniss knows her, and trusts her. Is that enough for you?" He asks the officer back. He doesn't even glance at her. "I think we're done here."

"Soldier Abernathy, we are only trying to connect the pieces," Evans says defensively. "We are only trying to find out Ms. Trinket's place in all this."

"She's on our side! I can vouch for her. Heavensbee will too. She was supposed to get here when we did—"

"But she didn't, and she was in the rehabilitation center with several supporters of the Capitol."

"This isn't black and white, for fuck's sake!"

"I miscarried," Effie finds herself saying. She doesn't know why. She just wants the buzzing to stop, the argument to be over, she just wants to forget everything that happened. She tightens her hands against the sheets and doesn't meet anyone's eye. "I bled because I lost it, I… the doctor said it was too much physical stress. That's when I went to the hospital."

There was silence.

"You can't fake a miscarriage, Ms. Trinket," Evans says. "Our doctors will look into that."

Effie's voice cracks. "You can't fake that, indeed."

She feels her lip wobbling and she looks down dejectedly, feeling suddenly so tired. She's so, so tired of questions. She's so tired of fighting for herself.

The buzz in her ears continue and she tries to control her breathing. In, out. In, out. She hears the men speaking but she pays no attention to it — she won't answer anything else. What is the point of answering if they doubt her every time?

She feels a hand against her cheek and looks up. The room is empty, save for Haymitch.

"You okay?" he asks. She brings her own hand to cover his and shakes her head.

She doesn't know if she will ever be okay again.

—

Haymitch doesn't ask any details of what she's spoken of; he doesn't ask anything about prison, or the hospital, or the rehabilitation center. Which is well, because she doesn't want to talk about it.

She stays in the hospital for five days until they discharge her, after numerous procedures. Her ankle is healed, although it hurts when she puts her weight on it. The doctors of Thirteen mention she may have to do some physical therapy for it in the future. She has a few scars, but nothing too big, nothing that won't fade in time. A simple exam tells her that her ordeal at the Victors' hospital wasn't an illusion. A big part of Effie had hoped it was.

She's given a temporary tattoo on her wrist, with a schedule on it. Effie doesn't mind it. She likes schedules. She likes planning. She likes knowing what to expect of things.

A guard guides her to a compartment that will be her room — she follows him through halls and stairs and she can't help but stare in awe at how big this place is. A district underground. It looks much, much bigger than the little she's seen of Twelve, outdoors.

She's happy to note she has half an hour after lunch to go outside. She misses the sun. She misses fresh air.

Her compartment is small — two bunk beds, a desk. A small bathroom. There are few toiletries, only the essential, but that's enough for now. She's given two pairs of uniforms — the same ugly grey uniform everyone wears here — and a pair of shoes. The soldier closes the door by pressing a button and Effie finds herself alone for the first time since she got here.

She goes through the small cabinet in the bathroom and finds what she needs. A pair of scissors and some water on her hair does the trick.

She has never cut her own hair before, but she supposes she can risk it since it can't get much worse than this.

She manages to even it out, somewhat — it's short, but with a hairbrush it's not spiked anymore. It reaches a little under her ears, and perhaps it's the water here, or the lack of chemical products she used to use, but it's curling, and looks so weird to her. She isn't used to it, but she can learn to be okay with it. It's not long anymore, it's not straight anymore, but it's hers, and she doesn't think she can hide it here.

She works on her nails next.

They are dirty and uneven — some are long, others have broken. She cuts them short, and uses a lotion that smells like pines on her hands to try to make them smooth. Her skin has been dry for a long time.

It's not the same as a manicure, or a good hairdresser, but it takes her mind off of things. She misses her wigs, and her fake colored nails. She misses makeup, and the pretty eyelashes, and spa afternoons with her girlfriends. She wonders what's happened to them.

She doesn't go to dinner because it's late by the time she finishes showering, and she doesn't feel hungry. She ate before she left the hospital and she's worried she won't find her way around this place, even with the map they've given her.

She lies down on one of the bunk beds and stares at the ceiling. She pretends she doesn't know the soldier who guided her here is still standing guard at her door.

Another place, another prison.

It's hard to fall asleep once that realization hits her.

She's been used to sleeping with the lights on, too, because neither the Tribute Center nor the rehabilitation center bothered with them before. Here, the lights are off automatically, and she has trouble with that. She doesn't like the dark.

She's been there for at least two hours when she hears the door sliding open. She jumps, heart beating quickly against her chest, and she sits up, even if it's dark and she can't see anything.

"It's me, Sweetheart."

It's only when she hears his voice that she realizes how loud her own breathing is. She relaxes. She hasn't seen him since yesterday, but she welcomes his presence.

She doesn't blame Haymitch. When she was in that cell, she thought she would, eventually; now, being here, she understands he never had much choice to begin with.

"You okay?"

He doesn't like sleeping in the dark either. She's known that for years.

"Yes," she says. There's silence. He hasn't really stepped into the room. The door is closed behind him, but he's still standing in front of it. "Can you stay with me?"

Effie doesn't mean anything by it, and she doesn't clarify it because she knows he understands. She hears shuffling of clothes and she instinctively scoots over, near the wall. Haymitch steps closer and lifts the sheet covering her. She shivers, and she feels nervous, although she doesn't know why. He lies down next to her, and the bed isn't very big, so she feels his body heat before they even touch. She lies on her side, and a hesitant hand reaches his chest. She should feel trapped, between him and the wall, but she feels safe instead. She lets out a sigh, and realizes she's been tense since she first went to bed hours ago.

His arms encircle her waist.

"I missed you."

His whisper sounds loud in the stillness of the room. Effie fists the shirt he's wearing and breathes in his scent.

"I missed you too."

They never had the kind of relationship where such confessions would be common, but it doesn't feel weird to hear these words now. She believes them, she knows he wouldn't lie to her, and it surprises her how honest her own reply is.

She sniffs before she can help it.

"I'm sorry," Effie says, closing her eyes. "I can't help it, I…"

"It's fine, Sweetheart," he says.

"It feels like this will never end," she tells him. "I just want this to be over, Haymitch. One way or the other."

Haymitch stills next to her.

"You don't mean that," he growls in her ear. "You'll be fine. You're safe now."

"Am I?" she asks him, and a tear runs down her face. "I don't know if I am. No matter where I am, they don't trust me."

" _I_ trust you," he says forcefully, pulling away from her to see her face. It's hard to make out shapes in the dark, but she catches sight of his eyes.

"I'm not sure if that's enough."

He doesn't reply; he can't promise her anything, and he knows she knows this.

She's able to sleep afterwards.

—

They develop their own routine over the next few days.

Their schedules don't match except for breakfast, so they spend it together, usually sat on a table by themselves. Sometimes Plutarch joins them.

The soldier shadows Effie wherever she goes, and it's unnerving to say the least. She doesn't comment on it — Haymitch glares at the young man often enough.

She spends her other meals alone. No one really talks to her, some people stare, but Effie doesn't think most of them even know who she is. She looks too different.

She wonders if that's a good or a bad thing, after all.

On her third day after she was released from the hospital, Annie Cresta joins her during lunch. Effie's surprised by it — she remembers speaking to Annie twice before, during her own Victory Tour, years ago. She never was a frequent visitor to the Capitol, and it's no secret her Games changed her head. Effie always thought that was just something silly, a child's reaction to something she knew to expect. She never understood it.

She does now.

Annie doesn't say much, at first. She just sits there, and starts eating her lunch. Effie does the same, although she's wary of it — she feels nervous in the company of others, and she feels Johanna Mason's eyes on them as she passes them a few minutes later. That is a Victor she never had much love for.

"I remember you," Annie says after a few minutes. "I told them you weren't doing well."

Effie frowns, taking a bite of bread. It's a little rough but it's fresh and warm and she rather likes it. "Told whom?"

"The Peacekeepers outside our cells," Annie says softly. "You never said you weren't well before. When you did, I thought it was serious."

Effie stops eating, and gapes at her.

"I didn't know it was you."

"They never took me out of my cell," Annie explains, unfazed by her surprise. "They took you out often."

Effie looks at her — really looks at her. Her red bangs almost cover her eyes, and her skin looks healthy — she looks healthy. She's thin, and her eyes look a little empty, but she eats quietly, as if she's forgotten Effie's even there. When she looks up and their eyes meet, she smiles. Effie does so, too.

"Thank you."

Annie only looks at her, that serene smile still on her face.

"Thank you, too."

They don't need any more words to understand each other.

—

Haymitch finds her outside, later. Of course he knows her schedule now. He never bothered with it before, but now he knows where she is all the time.

It's annoying.

She just… misses freedom. So much.

Soldier Dane — he's her shadow during the days — is nice enough to keep his distance as Haymitch approaches them. She's sitting on a fallen tree — she's never done this before. To sit on the ground, or around vegetation, without so much as a blanket. She hates being underground, but she loves being outside, she realizes. The trees smell nice. There are birds chirping. It's not gray, or white, or dark, just… green, and blue and yellow and she loves these colors. It's a whole other world outside, and it's _alive_.

Haymitch sits down next to her without any ceremony.

"Heard you made a friend."

Effie smiles — it's small, tentative, but it's the first real smile in a long time.

"We used to be neighbors," she explains, and doesn't elaborate. She knows Haymitch understands. "Annie saved my life back there. I'm grateful, although right then I wasn't sure I wanted to be saved."

"Effie," Haymitch warns her. She understands, really she does, that he's been fighting and planning for a free country here, and she should be grateful but she doesn't forget that her future is still uncertain. She doesn't care — she won't apologize for caring about herself. She won't apologize for being selfish.

They stay in silence for a while. She wants to ask if there's news from the Capitol, but she knows he won't tell her, not until there's some actual progress. Effie breathes in deeply, savoring the warmth of the sun and the smell of the forest around them.

"I didn't know I was pregnant," she breaks the silence, then looks down on their feet, shuffling some leaves from the ground. "It seems so silly. It's not like I'm so young that I wouldn't notice I was pregnant, but I never did. It never crossed my mind."

It takes a moment for Haymitch to say anything.

"Didn't they know?"

Effie frowns. "I don't think so. It served as the last straw for them, though," she takes a deep breath. "I guess they figured that if I had no information after that then I really never had anything to tell."

Haymitch nods. Effie turns her head to look at him — his face is closed off. His thoughts are far away.

"Won't you ask if it was yours?" Effie asks him, because she's perplexed he hasn't.

He shakes his head. "I know it was mine, Sweetheart," he purses his lips. "It figures that after we spent years sending kids to death they'd find a way to kill our own."

His tone is still detached. She doesn't blame him.

"I think it was a boy," Effie hums.

He arches his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

She shrugs. "I had this dream, and… it's silly. It means nothing, though. I never knew what it was. Just… a cluster of cells, I suppose."

She doesn't know why she's telling him all this.

"What dream?"

Effie smiles. "I'm shopping and I buy a very small bow tie."

"Could be a bow for hair," he points out.

"No, it's a tie," she assures him, then laughs when she notices he's teasing her. "It's silly."

"Damn right it is," Haymitch agrees. "No way in hell I'd let you put a bow tie on a baby."

She laughs harder, and her eyes water a little, and her hand reaches for his own. Their fingers lace together instinctively. She leans her head on his shoulder. She misses careless conversations. She misses being able to talk to him about anything, even if he can't stand most of the subjects she wants to talk about. They developed a weird, distant relationship over the years they've worked together.

His free hand rests on her shoulders, and she notes that however private this is, it's also the more public they've ever been together.

The tears fall freely — out of grief, but relief as well. It was hard to maintain all this to herself — it still is. It's good that it's out, even if it won't mean a thing.

"I didn't know before I lost it, but I still wanted it," she sniffs. Haymitch's hand squeezes her shoulder softly. "Am I crazy, Haymitch? Have they succeeded in driving me crazy?"

She feels him press his lips against her head.

"No, Sweetheart," he says. "You're alive."

She closes her eyes, and lets herself hope.

—

It doesn't get any easier.

People still eye her with mistrust, she still doesn't understand this district, she hates the schedule — she keeps up with it, of course, but it's just another form of a prison in the end. And she's sick of prisons.

She doesn't sleep much, and when she does she has nightmares — the feeling of uneasiness day in and day out doesn't help. The doctors prescribed her sleeping pills, and they help, but she's so afraid of becoming dependent on them that she only takes one when she can't take it anymore.

Haymitch has nightmares too. He doesn't always sleep either, and she thinks it's because he's worried he'll eventually hurt her — he thrashes in his sleep, but she's usually awake when he does so. His hours are odd — lots of time spent in command, discussing things she isn't privy to, things she isn't interested in. She just wants this to be over.

Still, at least she has company. That is better than the prison.

She sighs wistfully early one morning, thinking back on things she wishes she could have here. A hair straightener, that would be a given. Nail polish. Different clothes, oh, how she hates these ugly uniforms. Chocolate covered strawberries. Champagne — she misses champagne so much, she can only guess Haymitch must hate this alcohol-free district.

"Stop thinking," he mumbles next to her. "Still early."

She stills, surprised that he's awake — it hasn't been a particularly bad night, all in all. She woke half an hour ago, and she can't go back to sleep. He hasn't had a nightmare yet.

"I miss coffee," she complains, turning around to look at him. "I miss chocolate."

His eyes are still closed, but he smirks. "Me too, Sweetheart."

"I miss my clothes," she laments further. She can't help it. "I miss going out with my friends. I miss shopping."

Haymitch opens his eyes then, and she thinks the smirk has turned into a sad smile. She knows what he's thinking. She'll never get these things back.

Instead, he humors her.

"I miss whiskey," he says.

"I miss my wigs. I miss my long, straight hair. Don't you?"

He shakes his head, bringing a hand to her hair.

"Nah," he answers. "I kinda like it this way."

"You just hate the wigs," she says, bumping her nose against his. "I know it."

"Maybe I just like you better without all that makeup," he says, hands slipping around her waist.

"Well, I like you better sober," her whisper carries in the room. They stare at each other.

She presses her fingertips softly against his chin — the stubble is rough against her skin but comforting at the same time. She traces the outline of his lips and he watches her as she watches him. Their breaths mingle, and she's forgotten what they were talking about. She finally moves her hands to his neck, then his shoulders. Maybe she's the one who pulls him closer, or maybe it's him, but their lips meet halfway.

Effie realizes they haven't kissed since _before_.

He doesn't taste of liquor anymore; he tastes of the generic toothpaste they all use. He smells like the generic shampoo they all use too. His hair is soft and clean, not like it used to be. He's thinner, and his movements are slower, as if he's afraid to hurt her, and maybe he is, and it's different but it's still the same and… nothing else is the same anymore.

One kiss gives way to another, and another; one of his hands are tangled up in her hair and she is running a palm over his chest and his stomach, and they're so close, closer than they've been in a long time, and she realizes she's missed this, she's missed them like this so much…

A beeping echoes in the compartment and Haymitch's lips leave hers. Effie should be offended, really, with how quickly he recovered — he's sitting up in the split of a second and reaching for his communicator across the room a second later, while she's still lying down, still wide—eyed at the interruption.

"They want me in command," Haymitch tells her, and Effie nods, but he doesn't see it as he's already putting on his clothes.

She sits up slowly as he heads to the bathroom, its yellow light illuminating the small bedroom. Effie leans her side against the wall and breathes deeply, a hand running through her hair in an attempt to make it look less dishevelled than it surely is. She bites down a yawn, and raises her eyes to look at Haymitch when he reappears in the bathroom doorway.

He's looking at her with a weird expression on his face, and she feels suddenly too self-aware of her wild bed hair, her bare face, and the simple white cotton tank top she wears for bed here. He's seen her in much more alluring pieces in the past, in lace and leather and in so many colors and she feels as if she's never been more plain. She instinctively tries to cover herself a little, but he reaches the bed before she can do anything, and then he's leaning over her and his lips touch hers so quickly she almost doesn't have time to respond.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" he says against her lips, his eyes boring into hers. She nods. "I'll see you later."

Effie watches as he sends a smirk her way before the door slides open and he leaves the compartment. She ignores the annoyance that blooms in her chest every time she sees the shadow of the soldier standing guard outside and lies back down with a sigh.

She doesn't know then, but she won't see him later.

—

A lot happens that day.

President Snow surrenders. Capitol children are killed. Katniss nearly gets burned to death. District healers get killed. Poor young Primrose is killed. They officially learn that Finnick is dead. Annie finds out she is pregnant. Haymitch leaves for the Capitol without being able to talk to Effie. And Effie is thrown back inside a cell.

It all happens very quickly, actually; they've just learned the news from the Capitol, and Annie doesn't feel well, and Effie accompanies her to the hospital, along with Johanna Mason. Evans is still shadowing her, but he's not rude, and he's not to blame because he's just following orders. He helps them with Annie and stands outside as she gets checked out and learns the pregnancy news. She's shaken, but happy, and Effie thinks she may have forgotten about Finnick's death momentarily. She's shaken herself.

It's just a few minutes later that Soldier Evans enters the room with a tense expression on his face.

"Ms. Trinket, we need to go," he tells her.

Effie shakes her head. "I know I'm late for dinner, but—"

"Ms. Trinket, I'm sorry," Evans starts again, interrupting her, and Johanna and Annie stop talking too. "You're to be taken into custody again. President Coin herself gave the order."

Effie freezes.

"Where's Haymitch?" she hears Johanna ask, standing up next to her. "She's not gonna run away, you can leave her here."

"He's on his way to the Capitol as we speak," Evans says. "I'm sorry, Ms. Trinket. We have to go."

Effie blinks, then stands up mechanically. She tries to smile, but knows it comes out as shaky at best. She squeezes Annie's hand and tries not to mind how heartbroken she is, and how confused Johanna is, even if she never seemed to care before. Effie looks at Soldier Evans, and notices he has handcuffs for her wrists, and a shiver runs through her body.

"Let's go, then."

Evans is kind enough not to use the handcuffs when she accompanies him willingly, but the whole experience feels like a haze to Effie. She follows him through the maze that is District 13, and they take the elevator down and down. Maybe the air here is worse, because she has difficulty breathing. Her palms are sweaty.

"Can you try to tell Haymitch, Soldier Evans?" Effie mumbles when they leave the elevator. She thinks she sees him nod.

She does everything they tell her to — she lets them erase her schedule from her wrist, she undresses when they ask her to, and she's grateful when they let her keep her underclothes; they put her inside a very, very small cell — four walls again, four white walls, and there's nothing there, no toilet, no bed, no window, nothing.

Effie screams.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

She doesn't know how long she stays there, but it feels like forever before the door is open again. She has no tears left to cry, her throat hurts from screaming, and her breathing comes in sharp, quick movements. The light from the corridor blinds her, and she can't see who's come because she's been in the dark for a while. Strong arms grip hers and haul her up, and she follows without really understanding anything. It's only when they put her under icy cold water that she gasps and shakes.

She's suddenly aware of her surroundings and that someone is talking to her, possibly through an intercom.

"Ms. Trinket, we need you to be here," the voice tells her, and she looks around, everywhere, but she sees only white tiles and she gasps again. "The Mockingjay needs you."

 _Katniss_.

Effie takes the wet hair out of her face and trembles under the cold water.

"Ms. Trinket," the voice says again, louder. "Do you understand me? A deal has been made. You'll be free. The Mockingjay needs you. Do you understand?"

She opens her mouth but no sound comes out. Her bottom lip is quivering due to the temperature, and Effie crosses her arms in front of her chest, only now noticing she's still in her cotton tank top and panties. She concentrates and tries to speak again.

"I understand."

The shower is turned off. She's still shaking. A door opens — she didn't even notice that door before — and a woman in a regular 13 uniform appears, offering an arm to assist her. She's taken to a small dressing room and given towels and new uniforms to wear. Effie's teeth are still clattering when they lead her out of there, and she sees Soldier Evans again — he smiles tightly at her and tells her to follow him.

By the time they reach the hangar her hair is almost dry and she can't help but fear they'll just take her to another facility.

Evans leads her to a hovercraft and tells her to get inside; she does so without any question. Plutarch is inside, apparently waiting for her. Effie gapes at him. She notices how he looks at her, and he looks worried, he looks anxious.

"We don't have much time," he says, guiding her to a comfortable looking seat by the window. This isn't a hovercraft for the army. "Sorry. There's some food here. As soon as we're up in the air we'll get you something. You must be hungry."

Effie nods, but she doesn't really feel anything. She takes a seat and looks around.

"President Coin ordered that everyone who had anything to do with the Games must be executed," he tells her, occupying the seat in front of her. "I'm sorry. We were in the Capitol when we heard," Effie hears his words with attention. "Haymitch got you a deal. You play the escort one more time, this time for the new government, and then you're free."

She nods slowly.

"Where are we going, then?"

Plutarch smiles.

"Home, Effie. We're going home."

—

Home is different.

It's not as colorful as before. There's a lot of gray and white. Buildings are destroyed. Parks are ruined. Effie watches it all from the hovercraft and she doesn't have to step out to understand nothing will ever be the same. She's known this for a while, of course, but seeing her home the way it is brings a new light to the fact. Everything has changed.

They go to the Presidential Mansion and Effie is reminded of all her times here, _before_ ; at parties, always. With fireworks and so much art and such fine company. The food, oh, the food was fantastic. The music — how many times did she dance here? She can't tell, and the memories would bring a smile to her face, except she isn't sure if they are truly happy. The mansion looks gloomy now. Perhaps it's been this way all along.

There are no Peacekeepers in sight, and for that Effie's glad. Only soldiers.

She's decided she doesn't like soldiers much, either.

They guide her through corridors she's never been in before, and then open a door to her — to a guest bedroom. Plutarch tells her she'll be notified of her duties and that she may visit Katniss when the doctors allow it. The soldiers leave with him, and Effie finds herself alone in a huge bedroom and there's everything she's wished for in it: good decoration, mahogany furniture, a television, and a big, comfortable bed.

She takes a long shower — an actual shower, and it feels as if she hasn't showered in months, because she's doing so listening to her favorite music and the water smells like fresh flowers and it's _warm_ and _nice_.

The towel is soft against her skin as she dries herself; she manages to straighten her hair and it doesn't look as bad as it did before — it looks slightly longer this way. She looks into the wardrobe in some fascination, finally able to _choose_ what to wear. There are _so many_ options — the last doors are reserved for masculine clothing, and even those offer a wide range of choices. The clothes aren't _hers_ , but they are more or less her size. She chooses a bright pink dress because she's eyed a pair of green heels that will look amazing with it, she just knows it.

The dress is a little loose, in the end. She's lost some weight. She'd have adored to lose some weight before, but she doesn't really like the way her body looks in the mirror these days. It's disheartening — the cleavage the dress shows isn't really alluring, and the fabric is a little rough on her skin. She never cared much for comfort, but that's changed, she thinks. She should feel good about herself, and she hasn't in a while.

Still, she persists. She puts the heels on, and they do look very pretty combined with the dress, but she finds that her ankle hurts every time she walks.

She takes off the dress and the stilettos. It's not a problem. She'll find something else to wear.

Only, she doesn't.

She tries on almost all of the dresses and skirts and suits, and they all look weird to her, and she tries hard to stop the tears from falling, because fashion is something she's always loved, since she was a little girl, and she doesn't want it to be taken away from her.

Forty minutes later, she's still wearing only panties and a robe tied tightly around her waist, sitting dejectedly on a loveseat in the corner of the room, clothes and shoes all over the floor. She feels exhausted. She looks out the window, to the white snow on the grounds and on the trees, to the beautiful garden it used to be, to the city in the distance, the city that used to be so alive but that is now so broken and ruined, and Effie wonders if this is yet another kind of prison. Perhaps the prison is glued to her brain, unwilling to free her. She certainly feels that way.

The knock on the door startles her.

Effie adjusts the robe as she walks to the door, fingers trembling slightly as she reaches the doorknob.

"Who is it?" she asks.

"Haymitch," the voice says patiently, and if it were anyone else Effie would have changed into the first outfit to make sure she looked proper.

When she hears his voice, she immediately opens the door.

He has one step inside the room when she launches herself to him, and she hates how glad she is to see him, she hates that she can't seem to feel safe without him, she hates being so dependent, but she's so happy to see him, she's so glad she's here with him.

"You okay? Huh?" Haymitch asks, pulling away from the embrace, one palm stroking her jaw, eyes darting around her face, hands roaming over her arms carefully. He's assessing her, making sure she's fine.

Effie nods. "Yes."

"Did they do anything to you?" he asks, closing the door behind him while still holding her. She opens her mouth, but only shakes her head. She's so tired. "Effie," he says, tilting her chin towards him. "What did they do?"

"Nothing," her voice is hoarse. "They just… kept me in a tiny room. Alone. I couldn't… I couldn't sleep. I'm so tired."

"Did anyone touch you?"

"No, I didn't see anyone. No one came by," she tells him. "They just… left me there, and I couldn't—I thought they'd just forget me there, Haymitch, I can't go back there, I won't!"

"Damn right you won't," he curses, his hand stroking her hair. "Plutarch told you about the deal?"

Effie nods.

"Are you up for it?"

"I have to be," she says with certainty. "How's Katniss? Peeta?"

He recounts quickly what she's missed in the two days she's been away; she's anxious to see Peeta again, in a way that she isn't even sure if she wants to, and she's worried about Katniss, even if Haymitch tells her she's out of danger now. There are no news on Aunt Lottie, from what Haymitch tells her, and he says they can go to town soon to see what's left of her apartment. Effie feels reassured enough that she lies down when Haymitch excuses himself to take a shower, and she realizes that perhaps this is the room _he_ 's been staying in. She can't bring herself to care.

She lies down on the bed, television turned on now, and she hears the news and tries to keep up with what's happening, but she falls asleep and she doesn't even know it.

—

She wakes up to the smell of food.

 _Good_ food.

It's dark outside, and the bedroom is nearly dark, safe from a bedside table lamp that is turned on; Effie gets up and crosses the room towards the small adjacent sitting room. Haymitch is sitting on the loveseat, a frown on his face as he reads some papers. He hasn't noticed her yet.

The smell reaches her nostrils once more and she lets out an involuntary moan, and Haymitch looks up.

"Hey," he says, "they just left this for us. Mushroom soup. I know it's not your favorite, but…"

Anything is better than the tasteless stews and vegetables from District 13.

"No, I love it," Effie decides, and she has no doubt she'll love mushroom soup forever after this evening.

There's no table so they end up eating on the loveseat, the muted television still on; the soup tastes like heaven after months of not eating enough. The portion is big enough that she isn't able to eat all of it, and Haymitch ends up eating her leftovers; in the past, she would have chided him for it. Now, she doesn't really mind. Food shouldn't be wasted.

They don't talk much. Haymitch goes back to his reading — she suspects he's worried about something, but he hasn't volunteered the information and she hasn't asked. Instead, she watches the news for a while — it's all a great mess, apparently. So many dead that they haven't been able to count yet. Interviews are held with officers from the Districts. You can hardly see any Capitols on screen. Effie wonders if this means people like her — no, _her people_ — will be the same as the district people used to be.

It's not a happy prospect.

She stands up when she can't take it anymore, fidgeting within herself — she longs to be free, and she can only hope that her apartment hasn't been destroyed so that she can go back to it in the near future.

The journalist is talking about the attack on the City Circle when Haymitch abruptly turns the television off. Effie turns slightly from the window, startled by the abruptness of the action; the remote is tossed carelessly on the coffee table, and Haymitch massages his temple. His eyes catch her movement.

"I'm sick of listening to this crap," he mumbles as an explanation.

Effie nods her agreement, although she doesn't quite share the sentiment. She's heard virtually nothing about it. The news she watched today didn't touch that particular subject and she was gone for two days in between the attack and now.

There's something he isn't telling her. It chills her to the bone, it truly does — the last time he kept secrets like this, she ended up imprisoned.

"What's with the clothes?"

Effie turns around again, this time fully facing him. She's startled by the question, and ashamed to realize she's still wearing the bathrobe, not actual clothes. He must have noticed the state of disarray of the bedroom, but she doesn't have it in herself to tidy things up just yet.

"I wanted to change from the uniform," she informs him.

Haymitch smirks. "And chose the bathrobe."

Effie huffed. "I couldn't choose, so I stayed in the bathrobe."

He puts the papers he's been reading on the coffee table and leans back against the seat. "Hey, I'm not complaining. I rather like the view."

She turns around again, just so he won't catch her tears. She doesn't mind the flirting — they've been doing that for so long that she barely registers it. It's not his words she doesn't appreciate, it's the fact that _she_ doesn't like the view. In bathrobe, or new clothes, or naked. She doesn't like the view and she doesn't like being reminded of it.

"Hey," she hears movement and hopes he isn't standing up. It's snowing outside now. "Sorry. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Effie lets out a laugh at that. Haymitch has been trying to make her uncomfortable for as long as she remembers. He succeeded a lot in the past. Not recently, though. But maybe he wasn't aiming at that.

"I tried all those clothes on," Effie says. He did stand up, and he's now hovering behind her, she can see him from the glass of the window. "I thought… I don't know what I thought. That I'd feel better. In my own skin again. But it feels like…"

"Like nothing fits you anymore," he finishes her sentence. Not quite what she was trying to convey, but it fits anyway. "I had this jacket, before I was reaped. Probably the best thing I owned to that point. I'd wear it all the time. When I came back… didn't quite fit. Felt too rough. Brought back memories. I don't know."

She turns her head slightly, and notices he's stepping closer to her. She waits for him to continue, to go on with his memory, but he doesn't elaborate any further. It's the most she's ever heard him talk of his time after his Games. He's never really talked about it. She knows enough to understand how painful it must be.

"I hated your clothes," he comments, and Effie smiles, even though she's dangerously close to tears. "All those hideous colors and frills."

She nods, surprised at the insight, and closes her eyes. "I thought they'd make me feel like before, but I felt… trapped."

He's close enough that she leans back against him, and one of his hands hold her waist. They don't do this sort of thing — they don't cuddle, they don't really share embraces if they're not in bed — and yet they've been doing it more and more lately. She rests her hands on top of his.

"I just want to feel like before," she says, at the risk of sounding like a petulant child, even if it's deeper than that.

In the past, Haymitch would have mocked her, probably.

Now, he holds her close and lets out a sigh against her ear.

"Nothing's gonna be like before, sweetheart," his tone is resigned. "Good or bad."

He's right, of course. It's not just the government that changed. She isn't the same person — and she suspects he isn't either. Society will change — already is changing. Life as they know it will never be the same.

Effie turns in his arms, letting go of his hands to reach for his shoulders. She searches for his eyes — there's a new look about him. He looks tired, but not physically; she doesn't know what's happened while she was detained but clearly the past few days haven't been easy on him. She feels a desperate need to comfort him.

She raises her hand to his hair, to be able to see his eyes more clearly. Haymitch watches her movements like a hawk, but his shoulders aren't tense. She tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and that's when he catches her wrist. He kisses the skin right over her pulse.

"We can be like before," Effie tells him softly. "The two of us. We can try to be like before."

He moves from her wrist to her palm. The stubble makes her want to take her hand away — it tickles.

"I just want to feel like I used to," she tells him, and her voice cracks. "Help me feel like I used to."

He watches her, searches for something in her eyes — whatever it is, he must have found it, because he's then kissing her before she knows it, and she's kissing him back, her mouth opening automatically and eyes closing at the sensation. His hands grip her waist and bring her closer and she takes an uncertain step towards him, bodies locked in a close embrace. It feels like before.

She lets herself get lost in the feeling — she likes the way his hands feel around her, loves the way he leans into her touch, and the way he's kissing her makes her knees go weak. She hasn't been kissed like this in a long time.

She pushes him a little, towards the loveseat, and he sits down, bringing her with him; he pulls his lips from hers and starts pressing wet kisses against her jaw. Effie breathes in deeply and adjusts her legs, straddling him. He fumbles with the tie of her bathrobe and she feels a little uneasy when he pulls away to look at her. She feels different, she knows she _looks_ different.

But Haymitch simply takes one look at her, opens the robe further and brings his lips to her chest. She wills herself to stop being so worried — this is just Haymitch. She still looks good. Just because she doesn't look the same doesn't mean she doesn't look good, and she knows she's attractive. Or at least that she used to be.

His lips close around her nipple and she can't help but moan at the sensation; he sucks and licks and kisses her sensitive skin and she's rotating her hips against him, already feeling the hardness through his pants and her underwear. She grips his shoulders tightly as he moves to her other breast; his hands ground her hips to his, and she moans and feels his hot labored breath against her skin. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, losing herself in the feeling until something prickles at her spine.

"H-Haymitch?" She starts, running a hand over his hair. His tongue is flicking against her nipple just the right way. He hums against her. She tugs at his hair slightly. "Haymitch."

"What is it?" He says at last, pulling away from her breasts to kiss her neck.

"Are we safe here?" She murmurs. "There are no bugs, are there?"

He frowns, pulling away to look at her again, holding her hips in place.

"No bugs."

"No cameras?" Effie asks, fighting the urge to look around.

Haymitch purses his lips. "The device only shows listening bugs. It's unlikely, though, not really the Capitol way."

"It's very much the Capitol way," Effie assures him, pulling away and looking around with mistrust. "This is the mansion, there must be bugs all around."

"Didn't stop us from fucking in the library that one time," Haymitch points out. Effie shudders just thinking of what that might have entailed. He catches it and looks at her, concerned. "What is it?"

Effie shakes her head. "Nothing, I… nothing."

She kisses him instead, rests her elbows lazily on his shoulders.

"Nothing," she mumbles again, planting a kiss on the crook of his neck, then right under his ear. "Let's go to bed."

He complies, although he still seems perplexed by the previous exchange, but by the time they reach the bedroom and Effie has successfully taken off his shirt, he appears to have forgotten all about it. She's trying to put it to rest, in the back of her mind, but the nagging feeling goes on until the robe she's been wearing reaches the floor. One of his hands is massaging her breast and the other is squeezing her behind, and normally she would have welcomed these touches, but she can't shake the feeling that she's being watched, even in the dark.

"No," she whispers, sliding her hands to his chest, lightly pushing him away. "Haymitch, no."

It takes just about two seconds for him to pull away from her, raising his hands as if he's criminal, and Effie swallows hard, blinking fast to stop the tears. She reaches for the robe and turns around, covering her front with it. She hears Haymitch sigh in frustration and closes her eyes.

"Sorry," Effie says. "I just can't—"

"It's fine, sweetheart," he interrupts her. "Just, uh, gimme a second, okay?"

Effie hears him leaving the bedroom back to the sitting room and realizes her hands are shaking. She eyes the robe and the wardrobe in the corner — and the many clothes thrown around the floor — and reaches for the shirt she had just taken off of Haymitch, on the floor. She puts it on — it reaches her thighs, and it feels warm and smells like him. It calms her down a little.

It takes a few minutes in the bathroom for her to stop shaking, though. She splashes water on her face, brushes her teeth — she feels a little better by the time she goes to bed, but not before turning off the bedside table lamp.

Effie is still awake when Haymitch comes back in. He goes to the bathroom first, and then she feels the mattress dip, and he's lying down next to her. She has her back turned to him, and he doesn't make a move to get closer. She bites her lip, hesitant to talk; she isn't sure she wants to talk about it, but she feels the need to give him an explanation.

She turns around. The fact that he made no move to turn on the lamp tells her he's got an inkling of what is going on.

"I'm sorry," she starts. He turns on his side to look at her too. Face to face, it's even harder to get the right words. "I just don't feel comfortable here."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," he rebukes her. "It's fine, princess."

Effie blinks, and shakes her head. How is it that it's so hard to speak nowadays? It used to be so easy. "No, it's not you, you did everything right, I just… I just don't feel comfortable."

He clenches his wrist, probably not even aware that he's doing it, and she places a hand on top of his.

"They made you watch?" Haymitch asks.

Effie shouldn't be surprised he has connected the dots. She nods.

He lets go of her hand to touch her shoulder, then her chin, making her look at him. There's a weird look about him — she has never seen it before.

"Did they do anything to you?" He asks for the second time that day, but the meaning is so different. "Did they make you do anything?"

"No, nothing like that," Effie is quick to reply. "Just… threats. The videos were used to… I suppose it was to expose me."

"Fuck," he lets go of her and presses the back of his hands against his eyes. "I could kill these bastards. You gave them the names you remembered, yeah?"

Effie nods. "I don't want to see them again. I don't want to think of them again," she shuts her eyes. "It's so hard sometimes. I feel like… like they're watching us. I hate this place. I know I should be grateful, but…"

"Damn it, Effie," Haymitch interrupts her, turning again to face her, the palm of his hand stroking her cheek. There's a feral look about him, but his touch is careful. "Damn it, it's not your fault. Stop putting the blame on yourself. It wasn't your fault, you don't have to be grateful, you can be mad all you want," he tells her. "Sometimes I wish you were angry."

"Why would I be angry?" Effie asks.

"At me," he offers, and his voice is coarse. "At Plutarch. Coin, Snow. Whatever."

Effie purses her lips.

"Anger solves nothing. Anger helps nothing," she tells him. "I don't blame you. I could never blame you."

His palm touches her cheek. "Just don't blame yourself, Sweetheart. Okay?"

She nods, and his words pierce through her heart, threatening to unleash something she doesn't want to see or deal with. She can't help it, though — the words ring through her ears and before long a tear falls, and then another, and Haymitch can't seem to wipe them from her cheeks quickly enough. He wraps his arms around her and she clings to him, hating this whole situation, hating the war and the presidents and whoever else had anything to do with it. She sniffs against his skin, the warmth of his bare chest and the soft thumping of his heart slowly calming her down.

It takes a few hours into the night for her to realize the two of them can't ever be like they were before.

* * *

 _A/N: Things have been moving rather slowly but we'll see a time jump in the next chapter. I did some research on the timeline of the events and right now (in this story) we're right between Snow's surrender and his execution, so this is probably around the end of November. We'll see the execution and Katniss' trial in the next chapter, so get ready for a chapter a little longer than normal to cover about 3 months of drama!_

 _I'd love to know your thoughts on this one - so if you can, just take a moment and let me know your opinion and how Effie will deal with the next developments!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Aunt Lottie is dead.

Effie finds out the next morning, when she and Haymitch leave the mansion for the first time. Haymitch wants to go to her apartment first, but Effie declines; either because she's afraid of what's become of her place or because she wants to see a familiar face. Aunt Lottie's house still stands, but it's been ransacked and windows are broken and doors have tumbled down. It's a disheartening sight, and Effie is trying not to cry when an elderly neighbor comes and tells her of the news that her aunt died weeks ago, in the hospital — because of her deteriorating health, not because of the government.

She had been worried about Effie, the neighbor says.

Effie isn't surprised at the news, but it still leaves her heartbroken; her aunt may have been old and not always the most sensitive of people, but they had each other and that was… something. Family is a weird concept now — or, more likely, the lack of family.

Effie says goodbye to the neighbor and turns back towards Haymitch, who has been hovering near the entrance of the house. It's unnerving, his presence, and not as calming as she thought it would be. She doesn't remember the last time she was able to walk around freely without wondering if someone was listening or following her. Even if Haymitch means well, she's… well, she's sick of it.

"I'm sorry," he offers, and he seems to mean his words, when Effie reaches him and nods. There are no tears in her eyes, not yet.

"She died in the hospital," Effie explains, unsure why. Haymitch never knew her aunt. Haymitch never knew _of_ her aunt. "She's been ill for some time. The doctor had warned us to be prepared, so… it's not a surprise."

She steps closer to the door, intending to open it, but Haymitch stops her, and opens it himself. Of course, they have to make sure the house is empty. The city has been chaotic, to say the least, for days now. It's better to make sure they're alone.

All in all, the house doesn't look so bad inside; there's no food, and it's a little messy and very dusty, but it looks like whoever broke in only intended to use it as a place to stay. Once Haymitch has cleared the house — a two-store house in the suburbs that had belong to Effie's grandmother — she feels able to go around the place. She grabs some photographs, drinks some water from the kitchen, tries not to cringe too much at the fact that the massive chandelier that used to hang on the dining room has fallen off and there's a million pieces of glass everywhere — probably a result of the bombing, according to Haymitch. Her family had always been well off, and the decoration is modern and nice and reminds her of the last renovation done to the house, when her grandmother was still alive only a few years ago.

"So, uh, you were close?" Haymitch asks as he follows her upstairs.

She hums quietly her affirmative. Her feet know this house since she's learned how to talk, so it's no surprise that they lead her to her old bedroom first. There wasn't much in it anymore, since she left home so long ago; the furniture is the same, but besides the portrait of herself above the bed — from when she started modelling when she was about sixteen — the bedroom is virtually empty. She does find a few items of clothing in the closet and a pair of high heels that are outdated and she can't really wear them at the moment, what with her ankle.

Fashion comes and goes, she reminds herself, and grabs the pair.

She feels Haymitch's eyes on her the entire time — watching her, observing the place around them. It annoys her to no end. This isn't a part of her life Haymitch belongs.

She tells him she wants to leave, even if she knows she will eventually have to be back. To settle things, she supposes — this is hers now, this house and everything in it, but it's so weird to think about the future and what she will do with it that she can't seem to handle it.

The next stop is her apartment.

The familiar streets surrounding her building feel strange to her. The building is standing, it doesn't look as if it's been ransacked. The bright red door, with the number 42 on it, seems surreal to her. How many times has she dreamed of being back here? How many times has she thought she'd never be home again?

She's been staring at the door for at least thirty seconds before Haymitch speaks.

"What is it?"

Effie shakes her head. "I… I don't have a key."

The halls are strangely silent. Effie doesn't know why she doesn't feel sad about not having a key.

It shouldn't surprise her when Haymitch carefully takes something out of his pocket — some sort of knife, apparently — and moves it against the lock of her door with the expertise of someone who does this for a living. She isn't entirely prepared when the door opens willingly, and she's taken back to a place that she hasn't been in a long, long time.

Everything is exactly the same.

It smells dusty, of course — but the living room is carefully arranged just like it was when she left her apartment the day she went to Twelve for what had been her last reaping. The colors scream at her aggressively — the red couch, the dark blue rug, the cushions, the mahogany coffee table. The white walls particularly look weird in this contrast.

Haymitch stays in the hall when she moves to the kitchen. White, impeccable. There must be some food in the cupboards but not much in the fridge, since she did know she'd be gone for a while because of the Games. The room looks sterile. She never did much cooking before, but she wants to try it someday, properly. Not here, though. This looks… It doesn't look comfortable, inviting.

Her bedroom looks the same. There are lotions and perfumes and so many things she's missed. She decides to take nothing from here — she'll come back. She doesn't want to stay in that mansion anymore, and although this weirdly doesn't feel like home — and it should, it really should — it's better than staying in that haunting suite with Haymitch.

She purposely avoids the extra bedroom — it's where she keeps all her clothes and accessories, while the bedroom closet served only for other kind of attire — pajamas, underwear, staying in clothes are kept there, along with a few treasured possessions she clings to, because she has always been the sentimental kind.

She finds Haymitch exactly where she's left him, standing awkwardly, as if guarding the door.

"I want to come back here," she tells him. "I don't want to stay in the mansion anymore."

She half expects him to deny her, or to question her, but he only nods.

"We should go back and get our stuff, then," he says quietly. She nods. He manages to lock the door and mumbles about having to get a key before they truly settle in.

She wonders when the two of them became a 'we'.

—

Effie isn't really prepared when she sees Peeta again. He looks thin, and unhealthy, and all she can remember is how confused and strange his behavior had been when they saw each other in prison. Haymitch warned her many times to be careful around him, that many random things trigger him, that he isn't to be trusted — but he's _Peeta_ , and he's always been such a lovely young man, and she's happy that he's alive and well, she can't really help it that she wants to hug him.

It's Peeta who hugs her, though. Haymitch is standing awkwardly by the doorway, and Effie hears his quiet "Careful, boy," before Peeta is hugging her, but she knows he means no harm, and she hugs him back, swallowing away the tears that still threaten to fall.

"Oh, Peeta," Effie says, feeling like a heavy weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She's known he was safe and alive for weeks, but it's so different to see him now, after everything. "I was so worried. So worried."

They pull away from each other and she frames his face on her hands, assessing him. A little pale, there are bags under his eyes. But no bruises to be seen. He gives her a tight smile.

"Me too, Effie," the boy says. "It's really good to see you."

Haymitch says a few words as well — it's clear he's talked to Peeta often in the last couple of days — and then he leaves them be, probably to go off and handle some government things Effie isn't interested in. But there's some coldness to their interactions, something Effie can't really point out. They look distant.

There's something different about Peeta. His eyes, perhaps. Effie supposes whatever innocence he still had before the Quell was lost along the way. It makes her sad. Still, he remains sweet to her, and polite — he doesn't lapse into any sort of flashback, he doesn't talk of Katniss at all. They spend some time together, talking and not talking, and Effie feels his eyes on her, watching out for something she can't pinpoint.

Maybe he's just assessing that she's changed too.

—

She stays with Peeta while Haymitch is in meetings she's not allowed in. She gets checked up by doctors to make sure she's healing well and she visits Katniss, who's still unconscious and whose face has been damaged by an explosion — she was a charming girl, perhaps not truly qualified as beautiful, but beauty has many forms, Effie has come to know, and she believes Katniss will still possess beauty in herself, despite everything.

She goes back to her apartment with Haymitch much later on. Their dinner is some bread and eggs that he manages not to burn even though she's pretty sure he doesn't really know what he's doing. Her kitchen is a mess afterwards, but it feels a little more like home.

They make love that night — it's slow, and different, and that's why Effie refuses to call it anything but lovemaking. It's weird, though, the way she feels — the way he makes her feel, the way she can't control the tears around her eyes and how gray his eyes look, but a pretty shade of gray, an almost blue kind of gray, and part of her feels like she's watching this on the outside, that she's not really there until he touches her just right and she comes, a low moan escaping her throat and legs trembling around his waist.

It's not perfect, but it's them, and no one else with them, and nothing between them, for the first time ever.

Afterwards, they lay together — which is not something they ever really did, at least not on purpose. It's windy and cold outside, but here, in a mess of limbs and sheets and blankets, Effie feels warmer than she's been in a long time. She remembers cuddling with previous lovers and rushing to the bathroom to make sure her makeup is alright and that her eyes are bright enough and that her cheeks aren't too flushed and that her hair still looks good. Tonight, she does none of these things; she's content in breathing in Haymitch's scent and nuzzling against his neck, one of his hands caressing her spine softly.

Soft isn't an adjective used often on him, but he's soft, and gentle. And that's exactly what she needs.

"You don't have to stay here," she says quietly. She knows he's not sleeping without having to look at his face. "Not if you don't want to."

"I like the mansion just as much as you do," he replies. His other hand is repeatedly combing her hair, the wavy short locks running through his fingers every time. It's soothing. She hasn't felt this calm in a long time. "Don't mind staying here. It's not a long walk there, either."

If he were a gentleman he'd ask if she wants him around, but he's never been a gentleman, and for once she's glad for it. She isn't sure if she _wants_ him around, but — maybe she _needs_ him to.

"I love you."

The words escape her lips quickly, but they are clear and she doesn't regret them, no matter how impulsive they are. Haymitch's hand stills on her back and she feels that he's tense. She decides not to let him speak.

"You don't have to say anything," she says quickly. "I just… I've been feeling this for a while. Probably longer than I've known. And I wanted to let you know."

He relaxes, only slightly.

"I thought you'd hate me," he starts, "after finding you, I thought… Before we found you, I thought you'd be lost to me forever. No matter the outcome."

She understands what he means to say without him ever saying it. She doesn't need to hear the words to know how he feels.

She closes her eyes, breathes in his scent. She wants to hope that everything will be alright. She wants to believe things will get better.

She just wants to be able to hope, eventually.

—

Weeks pass, and she needs to be well enough to walk around in heels for the execution, so physical therapy takes a good deal of her days now. It's annoying, really, how much time she spends in the hospital. After the physical therapy, she goes to actual therapy. It's not easy for her to open up.

She's met with old acquaintances — friends and colleagues she used to know. Things are different, and Effie doesn't know if it's her or them or the world around them or perhaps just — everything altogether. Connections are lost, personal and business wise. The wigs are mostly gone, and fashion seems to be in a limbo of sorts. It used to be a safe haven for her, fashion, now she isn't even sure if fashion will survive this revolution.

When the execution day arrives, she sees Katniss awake for the first time. Her skin is different, but she's still pretty — Effie thinks she's never been so pretty, even. She sees it in her eyes and the way the girl walks and behaves and she just knows Katniss will survive if only for her stubbornness and strength. They don't talk much. It's weird — Effie finds she doesn't have much to talk about. She feels out of herself wearing a wig, and old clothes, and very high heels that are bearable but still painful. Becoming an escort again — it's not something she likes, even if she used to dream of being able to work again.

It's a realization for her — nothing will _ever_ be the same.

Still — she's surprised when Katniss kills President Coin instead of President Snow. She knows it was on purpose, and she doesn't truly understand — Haymitch complains of Coin but she doesn't pay attention all the time. She's not interested in politics — she never wants to have to know politics again.

But in the chaos that follows, she finds herself being ushered backstage by Haymitch, and she can only register yelling and the sight of Coin's lifeless body; life is a fickle thing, she's come to know. It took her whole life watching children be murdered for her to realize that.

They go back to the mansion, and she's silent the whole time — Haymitch is trying to reason with Plutarch, trying to find ways to save Katniss, but Effie wonders — she thinks that maybe Katniss doesn't want to be saved, and maybe they should just let her make her own choice. She's not a child anymore, and she's been through a lot and Effie thinks — Effie understands why it might be too much. Why she must want to be free.

Because she wants that, too.

It's only when she's in a sitting room with Peeta that she truly allows herself to breathe.

He's agitated — and looks nothing like the boy she met eighteen months ago.

She took the paper with his name on it. What would have happened if it had been someone else's?

"She did the right thing," he says after a while. Effie's sitting down, and Peeta is pacing around the room. "Why did it have to be like this, though? And Haymitch knew. You know he knew."

The animosity between ex-mentor and ex-tributes is there and Effie sees it for what it is.

"He's trying to save her," Effie tells him softly.

"They'll kill her," Peeta says instantly. He stops walking. "You know they will."

"Perhaps we should trust her. She knows what she did. She knows of the consequences."

Peeta shakes his head. "You're just like Haymitch," he starts pacing again. "Just like him. Trying to help us by acting like this. Coin killed kids, and she wants new Hunger Games, but they didn't have to agree with it. It's madness—"

She raises her eyes, a frown on her forehead.

"New Hunger Games?"

His steps falter a little, as if he knows he's said too much, then seems to shrug and decide it doesn't matter anymore. "Yeah. With Capitol children. Katniss voted yes," his tone is bitter. "Haymitch agreed with her. They were mad, Effie. They can't have been in their right minds, and after this…"

He goes on; no news arrive. Effie decides to go back home, and Peeta assures her he'll be fine when she asks if it's okay to leave him, even if she's feeling worse with every second spent in this place. It's dark outside and there aren't many people around — a reflex of uncertain times. Their society has crumbled and politics are unpredictable.

She empties her stomach as soon as she reaches the bathroom of her apartment.

She feels sick, and lost — home doesn't feel like home, her body doesn't feel like her own, and her life is completely different, and she has no idea what she'll do from now own; she has no job and prospects are limited to say the least. She has no one to trust — she doesn't know if she'll be able to trust anyone again.

It's a mess.

She's sitting on the couch, still wearing the dreadful dress but thankfully without her wig, when she hears the front door opening and Haymitch letting himself in. He takes a deep breath when he sees her — she hears it more than she sees it, really, she hasn't been able to look at him yet. He sits in across from her, on the settee. He feels more distant than that.

"They'll give her a trial," he tells her. "Don't know when that'll be, but it's our last resort. Are you okay?"

Effie looks up at him. She knows she must be a sight — smudged make-up, the short hair, wearing a too elaborate dress that is too big for her.

She doesn't answer him.

"Did you know Katniss would do that?"

It's not the question he expects, she knows that.

Haymitch lets out a deep breath.

"I knew she had a plan. I didn't know it was this."

"Is that why you approved new Hunger Games?" she asks.

It takes him a second to reply.

"The boy told you," he says. Effie nods. "Yeah. I voted yes to let Katniss know I was with her. I still am."

Effie looks down, blinks a few times. "I have cousins, you know. They have children. I have friends with children, too."

"It won't come to that," Haymitch says tiredly. "No one knows of the voting but the victors. The boy shouldn't have told you."

"Haven't enough children die for this? For _us_?" she looks up at him again.

"There _won't_ be new Games."

"You still voted yes," Effie tells him. "You voted _yes_. Damn it, Haymitch," she presses her palms against her eyes. She doesn't want to cry. She has cried too much already. "And if there _are_ new Games? Am I supposed to escort Capitol children to their deaths too?"

"You have been pardoned," Haymitch says. She hears him stand up. "They have no leverage on you anymore."

She lets out a gasp, opens her eyes again. She shakes her head at him. "They always will, Haymitch. They always will," he sits next to her. She shifts in her seat, drawing some distance between them. He looks exhausted. It breaks her heart. "What if I hadn't lost that baby? Would I have to see my child be sent to an arena?"

A shadow crosses his eyes. "Effie, come on. None of that will happen. And it wouldn't have happened either. You're being delusional."

"Am I?" she repeats. "It could have happened."

"It wouldn't have happened," Haymitch tells her. His hand reaches for her shoulder, and she allows him. "I wouldn't have let it happen. Okay?"

She sniffs, then nods. His hand is warm against the uncomfortable fabric of the dress.

"I just cannot believe you would vote yes," she says after a moment. His hand moves to her neck instead, toys with the hairs on the back of her neck.

His touch is comforting, though, and she lets him comfort her. It's a relief to take the dress off of her, it's a comfort to feel his naked body against hers — it's almost ironic that she thinks it's when they're together that she feels the most like before — stripped bare, in the middle of sex, allowing him to touch her, and touch him in return.

She feels empty afterwards, though.

—

It takes a while for Effie to realize Haymitch can't fix her.

It's weird, really; they were never anything before this war. Friends with benefits, or more like co-workers with benefits. Yes, she felt for him, but she wasn't sure what it was before and she still isn't. The distance, the miscarriage, the torture, the war — all these things threw them together when she was rescued, and now they're in a weird vortex together.

She loves him now — she is sure of it.

But she knows he won't be able to fix her.

The realization comes with therapy and more distance — there's a strain between them. Effie is focused on her doctor appointments — to heal her ankle, to get rid of the little scars her time in prison left her. She can't fix the inside as simply but — it doesn't hurt to try the outside first. Appearances are everything, or at least they used to be. It's the only way she knows how to live. And Haymitch, well — he's too busy with the government, as he ought to be. The country is in shambles around them, and he was too instrumental in the rebellion to be let go now.

They have the nights together, but it's not truly much. She feels good when they're together — sex has always been an interesting part of their relationship — but it doesn't make for a relationship alone. They have different focuses, and that's okay, Effie thinks — she knows he worries about her but he's nice enough not to say anything. Some problems are her own, and she doesn't wish to share them. But he comforts her after the nightmares — just as she does his. And she wants to see herself having a future with him, like this — with silly late night conversations and cooking together, and reading together.

But the silly part hasn't truly arrived yet. They've both been through too much too recently to reach that part.

After it's decided that Katniss will be sent to Twelve — possibly for the rest of her life — and Haymitch offers to be her guardian there when her own mother won't return, he asks Effie to pack her bags, and spends one last night at her apartment in the Capitol. He's frustrated about the situation — he doesn't want to go back to Twelve, but he'll have to remain there, at least until Katniss is of age. The district is ruined, Effie knows, but the Victors' Village still stands. Effie nods as he tells her the situation, Katniss' trial and sentence; she comforts him and feels his pain and understands it, but she doesn't tell him right away what she knows in her heart.

She won't go with him.

She leaves Haymitch sleeping and goes to the bathroom after they have sex that night — she takes a long shower, then realizes she's skipped dinner but she's not hungry yet. She joins him back in bed, and he only stirs a little at the movement. She seeks his warmth, breathes in his scent, and wonders why she can only feel like herself when she's with him.

Effie doesn't sleep at all that night.

When Haymitch wakes up, very early, she's lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. He drapes an arm around her waist, and she lets him. She hopes he doesn't ask if she's alright because she's sick of that.

She's sick of a lot of things.

"I don't know who I am anymore," she says quietly in the morning light. Her bedroom is still mostly dark. "I don't know if I can find out who I am with you here."

He stills beside her. She doesn't blame him. She turns her head slightly and their noses almost bump against each other. He watches her closely.

"I don't want to be so dependable," Effie says clearly. "I want to get over this, I want… I want a future, and right now I can't see one. I can't see one for me, therefore I can't see one for us."

The arm around her waist moves and Haymitch is sitting up.

"If this is about Twelve…"

"No," Effie sits up too, and sneaks an arm around his. "Yes. A little. I don't want so much of my well-being to be related to you, or your actions," she continues. She isn't sure what she's doing, not really. "It wasn't before. I need to know who I am again, Haymitch. Where I stand. I just… I don't know anymore. I need to get back to my own feet again."

"You can do that in Twelve," he insists, and she hates breaking his heart.

Effie shakes her head. "You know I can't. You know," she kisses his lips quickly. "I think I need to do it on my own."

Blue meets gray. He holds her gaze. She hopes he understands.

He nods, after a moment. She presses her lips against his arm. His other hand reaches for her neck and his palm is warm and gentle against her skin.

"I love you," he says, very quietly, very slowly. He runs his fingers through her hair. "You know that, right?"

Effie nods. "It's good to hear it, though."

They make love one last time, that morning — it's slow and gentle and she lets herself believe it won't be the actual last time. She's spent by the time they're finished, but wills herself out of bed because she knows he'll have a busy day ahead of him. They make breakfast together — or, rather, he makes them breakfast while she watches, and she feels her heart burst with love, happy that he understands and respects her enough to let her do this on her own, sad that she has to do it alone while he's going to be on the other side of Panem, worried she won't make it to go back to him.

He takes some clothes with him but she rejects the key he wants to return, and they kiss one more time by the doorway.

"Don't be a stranger," he says, his nose touching hers. "Alright?"

Effie nods. "Take care of yourself," she sniffs as she tells him. "And of Katniss."

Haymitch nods. Kisses her cheek once, then her lips one last time. A lone tear slips away as she watches him walk away, but she blinks and takes a deep breath before she closes the door.

* * *

 _A/N: Don't hate me too much! One chapter left - let me know your thoughts!_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This took forever, I know! I must have written about 3 versions of it and I was never happy with how it turned out; in the end, this is the shortest version but I felt like sometimes less is more — and thus is the case here. It's the ending, but in a way it's just the beginning — you'll see what I mean. Hope everyone likes it! Let me know your thoughts!_

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

It's cloudy when she arrives.

Really, it's ridiculous how the weather resembles that day, over two years ago. This time she isn't walking around leisurely holding an umbrella because she can't afford to smudge her heavy makeup over some sweat. This time, she's carrying a suitcase, and she wishes she had applied some sunscreen before leaving the train.

Some people look her way — not because they recognize her, but because she must be a strange sight, in her yellow dress and the pink suitcase trailing behind her, its wheels making quite a bit of noise on the pavement. There are a lot of constructions happening around what used to be the main square. Effie likes it. It means it'll probably look nothing like what it used to.

It takes her some time to reach the village. She would have caught a taxi if she had seen any, but the few cars around seem to belong to the workers or the companies that are rebuilding. She doesn't see anyone she recognizes.

By the time she reaches the village's gateway, her heart is beating strong against her chest and she's sweating a little — either because it's hot or because she's nervous, Effie can't tell.

She keeps walking.

The houses seem empty. She sees some smoke from a chimney — from Peeta's house, she knows for a fact — and the flowers in the front yard actually look beautiful and the garden is well kept. Katniss' house, across the street, looks almost abandoned, except for the open window and the cat meowing in front of the door. Effie walks past it all.

Her eyes settle on Haymitch's house.

That one does look abandoned, and something moves inside her heart. A feeling — concern. It makes her stop walking.

Effie takes a deep breath. She smooths down her dress, runs a hand through her hair. It's longer now. She likes it this way. She almost reaches for the mirror inside her bag, but holds that thought aside.

A door opens loudly, and Effie jumps a little. It's not Haymitch's — it's Katniss'. There's a curse from the girl and a hiss from the cat.

"Stupid cat," Katniss mumbles, and Effie watches as her eyes follow the cat and then finally spot her. She braces herself for whatever question will come from the girl, but she's surprised at the way her face hardens. "Can I help you?"

Effie is taken by the harsh tone of her voice, and she takes a moment to gather her thoughts — a hand runs through her hair again, a little too nervous.

"The village is closed to journalists," Katniss says when Effie doesn't reply right away.

Oh.

She doesn't recognize her.

"Yes, Katniss, I know," Effie says instead. If she was self-conscious before, she's even more so now.

Katniss frowns. "Effie?" Effie nods. Katniss is clearly surprised. "Oh, sorry. Didn't recognize you without the, um, makeup."

"It's alright," Effie says, a little awkwardly. She pats her hair once more. Katniss stares.

"You look different," Katniss says, also awkwardly. The poor girl never had the best of manners before; that clearly hasn't changed. "It's good."

It makes Effie smile, though — because she knows Katniss is genuine. She was never very good at pretending, or lying, and in the past it annoyed Effie to no end, but today it's almost reassuring.

"Thank you."

"Are you here to visit us? Peeta didn't say anything," Katniss continues, walking down the steps to the sidewalk.

Peeta does call frequently, the darling boy. Effie's only connection to Twelve in the past five months.

"It was a bit of a hasty decision, actually," she tells the girl. "I didn't have time to call anyone."

"That's okay. Not much happens here nowadays," Katniss smiles; it looks like an honest one. "I'm sure we can find you a room to stay—with me or Peeta."

"Oh, I don't want to impose on any of you," Effie says mechanically. It's hard to leave old habits behind, especially the ones regarding her educations. Manners maketh man — and woman, her aunt would say.

Five months may seem like a short time but it feels like forever to her. Therapy has kept her somewhat busy, but finding work has been hard and — the truth of the matter is that Effie's life has been so unexpected that she didn't truly look for a job. Not when she might have to leave it soon.

But social life in the Capitol isn't what it used to be; some people still cling to the old ways, many have lost their money and properties, more than a few of her acquaintances didn't survive the war, or were left with little means to continue the life they had. Things changed, and still are changing, and maybe in the middle of this all Effie has realized that to get back on her steady feet she can't be in the Capitol.

More importantly, she has changed. She doesn't care much for gossip or status anymore. Fashion is changing too, and she's struggling to keep up with it because she doesn't have enough interest or money. She hopes at least the interest will change and she'll get there.

Coming to Twelve once Dr. Aurelius told her she could be treated remotely should she want to was a whim of a decision that Effie is regretting by the minute, though.

"Come on, Peeta is making dinner," Katniss says after a moment. "Haymitch's probably there already."

The name freezes Effie for a moment.

"Oh, I couldn't, Katniss. To show up unannounced like this," she starts, but Katniss interrupts her.

"It's not a big deal. Peeta always makes more food than we can eat," she rolls her eyes, and starts crossing the street.

Effie follows her.

Katniss doesn't knock, simply opens the door and walks in while Effie is still struggling to get her suitcase up the steps to the door; it doesn't give her much time to think about her current situation. She will face Haymitch with her head held high — she has no regrets over her requested time off but she admits she's a little hurt at his phone being out of reach and him never calling. It's this fact the main reason why she's so worried about coming — perhaps he regrets their involvement, or perhaps he feels guilty still and doesn't want her to know it. She's a big girl — she can handle a breakup. She doesn't want to, but she can handle it.

And she won't blame him, because part of her thinks their whole relationship was a mistake to begin with.

But the past is in the past, and she believes in moving on. She believes that things will get better. She lives her life by this rule and — slowly, it _has_ been getting better.

She has to try with Haymitch, at least. She has to try, and if he doesn't want her, or if it doesn't last, then — she'll just move on, like she's always done. Like she's doing. Effie Trinket is nothing if not resilient.

Still, she is surprised to find him staring at her the moment she crosses the doorway, a little sweaty from the heat and the nerves and of carrying the top heavy suitcase up the stairs.

But Peeta acts first and Effie is engulfed in a hug before she can even try to decipher what Haymitch's eyes may tell her.

"Effie! What a surprise!" The boy says, and Effie hugs him back and realizes she has missed him more than she thought she had.

She meets the gray eyes again and they tell her nothing.

Typical. She could never read Haymitch like he reads her, truly.

"I'm very sorry for showing up unannounced," Effie says once Peeta has let her go. "Really, such bad manners don't become me."

"It's fine. I can take your suitcase upstairs, if you'd like," Peeta offers, _his_ manners impeccable, as always. "Is that all you've brought?"

He seems surprised, though Effie doesn't get why — she's never packed lightly, but Peeta wouldn't have seen the dozens of bags she brought to the Victory Tour last year.

"With me, yes. The rest stayed in the station, I'm afraid. I couldn't find a car and could not bring them myself," Effie tells him, hoping Haymitch catches the meaning behind her words.

"How long are you staying?"

Haymitch's words aren't as harsh as she thought they would be. They're guarded — quiet even. She stares at him. He looks sober — tired, but good. She wonders if she looks the same.

"Hello to you too, Haymitch," Effie says, a little annoyed, a little out of breath, a little nervous too. She tucks a strand of her behind her ear. "I'm not sure how long I'm staying. It'll depend."

She can feel his annoyance from the distance between them — even if he hasn't let it be shown yet. He's too guarded, and this makes her guarded as well; they have always had the sense of trying to keep their emotions matching — usually for a fight. One of them will have to give, as always — and for the first time Effie isn't afraid that she'll be the one to do it. Nervous, yes. But not afraid.

She's been through too much to worry about such things now.

"Depend on what?" Haymitch asks quietly. Peeta and Katniss are watching them, one intrigued, the other bored.

Effie would rather not have an audience, but very well. He asked for it.

"On whether or not you'll want me to stay," she says truthfully, her words quicker than her usual speed, betraying just how nervous she feels.

Their eyes lock. She holds her breath.

"Peeta, put Effie's suitcase in my house, would you?" Haymitch says, eyes never leaving Effie.

She lets out a shaky breath, looks around to see Peeta nodding in understanding, and Katniss frown in confusion. The boy stops by the door, next to Effie.

"Katniss, can you help me out here?"

The girl still frowns. "It's only one suitcase."

"Please?" Peeta asks patiently, and it's enough for Katniss to leave.

The door clicks shut behind them, and there's silence. Haymitch has yet to move from his spot by the doorway.

"You're really staying?"

Effie nods. "If you'll have me," she breathes. "The Capitol isn't the same anymore, there's nothing for me there, and Dr. Aurelius says I'm doing well, and I— I missed you, and you didn't call."

The words are fast — too fast — and betray her completely, but she doesn't care. The past can't be erased, she understands it now; she can look forward, and if she has to take risks to get there, then so be it.

"My phone broke," he tells her, almost softly. "Not as simple to get it fixed nowadays. Not a priority."

"You could have used Peeta's."

He purses his lips. "Wanted to give you some space," he shakes his head. "Didn't want you to think you had any… _obligation_ towards me."

"The distance is enough space," Effie argues. "I don't think of you as an obligation. I came here because," she stops talking suddenly, and the many things she's wanted to say to him draw a blank in her mind. "I want a future. I finally want a future, and I… I want you in it. With me. If you want to."

He uncrosses his arms, stands taller. She sees the beginning of a smirk on his lips and a laugh escapes hers; he tries to fight it, though, but he does smile and — he hasn't looked this young in so many years, this carefree in so long, and it makes her a little proud that she has anything to do with it.

"Come here, Sweetheart," he asks.

But Effie shakes her head.

"Can you meet me halfway?"

She's smiling.

His eyes are twinkling.

There will be issues, she knows — they're both difficult people, and they've both been through a lot, and they both have issues of their own to handle. She hopes to make a garden out of his front yard, and she hopes his house doesn't look as bad inside as it used to be in the past. She'll wake him up with her nightmares and she'll beg him to try to sleep with her during the night, instead of daytime.

The flowers will grow there, hopefully, and maybe their love and their family will too.

They meet halfway with a kiss.


End file.
